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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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CIHM/ICMH 

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10X 

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12X                              16X                             aOX                              24X                              28X                              32X 

1 

tails 

du 
odifier 

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mage 


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srrata 
to 


pelure, 
)n  h 


D 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

.t' 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib 


"Tlicii  .li-sliil)     .     .     .    drew  liis  Uiiil'f    .    .    .    and 
waiti'd  Mis  cliuiicc  to  si  like.'"— /'(/<//-  IJI. 

li.v  .lAMKs  K.  SI  lAitr,  Madison,  Wisconsin. 


il    ! 


>M 


Madison,  Wisconsin 
THE  AMERICAN  THRESHERMAN 

1000 


T 


i4e.\cL_ 


(urar«rii^ 


(Jopyrlght,  1(100,  l).v 

Thk  Amicuican  Threshkrman 


First 

Edition 

November 

5 

IIKX) 

Hpcond 

Edition 

November 

30 

1000 

Third 

Edition 

February 

21 

1901 

Fourth 

Edition 

May 

24 

1001 


Press  of  M.  J.  Cantwem, 
Madison,  Wisconsin 


This  Book  is  dedicated  to  half  a  dozen 
groups  of  Little  People  —  most  of  whom 
are  White,  but  some  are  Black  and  some 
are  Red  —  who  live  in  the  four  States  bor- 
dering on  Lake  Michigan.  Their  acquaint- 
ance has  been,  not  alone  one  of  my 
pleasantest  recreations,  but  also  one  of  my 
most  profitable  Nature  Studies. 


r^-j" 


i 


m 


Words  to  the  Reader: 

Members  of  the  Ojibwa  tribe  of  Indians 
are  today  most  commonly  called  "Chip- 
pewa." The  old  men  of  the  tribe  will  tell 
you,  however,  that  the  word  Chippewa  is 
a  corruption  of  their  true  tribal  name 
"Ojibwa."  Through  the etforts of  Scientists 
this  latter  term  is  gradually  coming  in  use 
again. 

Ojibwa  Indians  would  not  understand 
you,  if  you  pronounced  "Ji-shib"  as  it  is 
spelled,  for  they  pronounce  it  "  She-sheel')." 


The  World  of  Things  does  not  mean  to 
the  Indian  what  it  means  to  us.  It  is  ditTi- 
cult,  almost  impossible,  for  him  to  ditfer- 
entiate  himself  from  the  other,  so-called, 
lower  animals.     He  and  they  both  had  the 


same  ancestors  Um^,  long  ago.  One  niytli 
says,  "  Many,  many  Winters  ago  there 
were  many  bull'alo  ;  alter  lour  da) s  a  part 
of  the  biilTalo  turned  to  hklians."  In  some 
things  the  Indian  Ivheves  himself  superior 
to  the  other  animals,  while  in  many  things 
he  as  truly  believes  hiraself  inferior  to 
them. 


The  following  is  a  true  story,  that  is,  it 
is  all  true  to  the  Ojibwa  child,  —he  believes 
it.  The  story  is  written  with  no  other 
thought  than  to  have  constantly  in  mind 
what  the  Ojibwa  child  believes  about  the 
events  of  his  everyday  life  as  given  in  the 
story.  And  the  following  incidents  are 
taken  directly  from  the  common  life  of  the 
tribe. 

ALBERT  HKNEST  JENKS. 
Madison,  Wisconsin. 
October  25.  1900. 


f 


INTRODUCTION 

For  ages  before  the  White  Man  came, 
America  was  the  home  of  the  Red  Man; 
and  the  Ked  Man  and  his  kindred  Hved  in 
closer  touch  with  nature  than  his  pale-face 
follower  dreams. 

When  the  White  Man  came  there  were 
more  than  a  thousand  tribes  of  Red  Men 
in  America,  and  they  spoke  about  a  hun- 
dred diflerent  languages,  each  more  unlike 
the  others  than  the  Hnglish  is  unlike  the 
Russian.  The  largest  linguistic  family  lived 
about  the  St.  Lawrence  river  and  the  Great 
Lakes,  and  pushed  over  the  plains  southward 
to  Tennessee,  northward  to  Hudson  bay. 
and  westward  to  the  Rocky  mountains  in 
Canada.  They  are  known  as  the  Algon- 
quian   family.     In  early  times  there  were 


II     i! 


i  '! 


many  tribes  and  some  confederacies  in  (his 
family;  one  of  the  largest  tribes  was  the 
Ojibwa,  or  Chippewa,  whose  descendants 
still  live  in  Wisconsin,  Minnesota  and 
Canada. 

Before  they  learned  the  White  Man's 
faith,  all  Indians  were  nearly  alike  in  be- 
lief; they  all  believed  in  animal  gods,  and 
they  all  believed  that  the  ancient  animals 
were  larger  and  stronger  than  those  now 
living.  Some  of  the  Red  Men  believed  that 
the  world  was  created  by  a  Great  Ancient 
Muskrat;  and  if  asked  why,  they  would  say, 
•'  Even  the  little  muskrat  of  today  adds  to 
the  w(^rld  by  building  his  house  of  mud 
and  grass."  Others  believed  that  the  Great 
Ancient  Beaver  was  the  world- maker;  for 
does  not  his  little  grandson  build  dams  and 
make  great  meadows?  So  the  Red  Men 
held  the  animals  sacred;  when  they  killed 
one  they  made  a  sacrifice  to  its  kind;  and 
they  imputed  to  all  the  animals,  and  to  all 
things  that  reminded  them  of  animals,  all 
sorts  of  mysterious  powers.  Among  some 
tribes  even  now,  each  person,  and  especially 
each  warrior,  is  supposed  to  have  his  own 
particular  animal  tutelary  or  guardian,  which 


lie  calls  his  Totem;  he  believes  that  this 
animal  god  aids  him  and  protects  him  in  all 
his  cominj;s  and  goings;  he  wears  or  carries 
a  symbol  of  this  mysterious  guardian  as  a 
fetish;  and  he  may  even  take  the  name  by 
which  the  animal  is  known  in  his  language, 
it  was  partly  because  of  their  worship  of 
animals,  partly  because  of    their    simple 
modes  of  living,  that  the  Red  Men  stood  so 
close  to  nature.    Their  eyes  were  trained  to 
see  the  animals  of  woodland  and  prairie, 
their  ears  were  trained  to  catch  the  sounds 
of  the  forest,  and  their  minds  were  trained 
to  dwell  on  those  natural  sights  and  sounds; 
and  when   they  spoke   it  was  usually  on 
these  simple  subjects. 

The  lives  of  the  simple-minded  :uid  na- 
ture-loving natives  of  America  are  full  of 
interest,  longfellow  realized  this  when  he 
wrote  "Hiawatha;"  so  did  J.  Fennimore 
Cooper  in  "The  Deerslayer"  and  other 
romances- -and  his  knowledge  of  the 
character  of  the  indi-Ui  was  excellent.  And 
now  comes  iJr.  Jenks  with  a  story  of  a  Red 
Child,  in  which  he  displays  deep  insight 
into  Indian  character,  and  describes  the  Red 


I  {• 


Child  as  that  interesting  person  might  have 
described  himself  in  his  own  wigwam  and 
to  his  own  grandchildren  in  the  evening  of 
his  life.  May  many  White  Children  read 
the  story  and  learn  therein  of  our  Passing 
Race! 

W.  J.  McGEE, 
Ethnolo!;;ist-iii-Charg<', 
Bureau  of  American  Kthnology, 
Wasbingtou,  D.  C, 

September  27,  1900. 


1!  :: 


.  if 
li  iiii 
it  .1 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  ONE 
In  Which  Ji-shilj  Is  Born Page  17 

CHAPTER  TWO 

In  Which  The  Beaver  Learns  To  Know 
An  Indian  When  He  Sees  Him,  And 
Also  Other  Things  Indian Page  33 

CHAPTER  THREE 

In   Which    Ji-shi6    Becomes   A   Little 
Medicine-Man Page  47 

CHAPTER  FOUR 

In  Which   Ji-shil3  Uses  His  Medicines 

Page  65 

CHAPTER  FIVE 

In  Which  Ji-shib  Learns  How  To  Pre- 
pare For  War Page  79 

CHAPTER  SIX 

In  Which  Ji-shilj  Outgrows  His  Child- 
hood  Page  107 


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4' 

CHAPTER  ONE 
In  Which  Ji-shib  Is  Born 


\m 


wo  hundred  and  fifty  years 
ago  a  fat  little  scamp  of  a 
beaver  was  swimming 
around  in  Chippeway  river 
in  northern  Wisconsin. 
■  First  he  swam  a  few  feet 
with  his  head  above  the  water,  then  he 
dropped  liis  head  out  of  sight  and  rested 
it  on  his  short  neck  and  swam  a  little 
distance  with  only  his  broad  flat  tail 
lying  on  the  surface  of  the  river — "look- 
ing like  a  mud-turtle,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. Presently  he  took  a  long  deep 
breath,  and  rising  high  in  the  water, 
kicked  out  with  all  his  feet  and  tried  to 
run  on  top  of  the  river,  but  he  looked 
like  a  lame,  short-eared  rabbit  hopping 

on  the  lawn. 

19 


Wt3Sf, 


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if 


I.  ! 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

This  was  the  most  fun  A-uii-kons,  the 
little  beaver,  had  ever  had,  for  during 
the  night  the  ice  had  broken  up  in  the 
river  and  had  nearly  all  vanished  by 
morning.  ''It's  all  water,"  he  said, 
"here  in  the  middle,  down  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  on  top. ' ' 

He  dived  down  to  the  soft  black  mud 
at  the  bottom  of  the  river  and  caught 
up  both  his  paws  full.  Xext  he  sat  down 
on  his  nice  fat  tail  and  watched  the  river 
steal  the  mud  out  of  his  paws  as  he  held 
them  up,  steal  it  from  him  and  float  it 
away  and  away  like  a  little  cloud  until 
it  vanished. 

But  as  that  was  the  very  thing  he  had 
been  doing  so  often  all  Winter  long,  he 
began  to  wonder  whether  it  really  was 
all  water,  especially  on  the  top  where  he 
had  many  times  bumped  his  head.  Up 
he  jumped,  and  kicked  with  his  feet  and 
wMth  his  tail,  and  before  he  knew  it  he 
had  jumped  himself  nearly  all  out  of  the 
water.  "Of  course  it's  all  water,  I 
knew  it  was,"  he  said;  and  then  he  lay 
over  on  his  side  and  floated  slowly  down 
stream — lay  there  and  floated  along  like 
a  baby  on  a  pillow. 

20 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

He  opoiiod  his  sharp  little  eyes  to  look 
jironiul  him.  With  one  eye  he  saw  some 
tiny  fishes  nnder  him,  and  with  the  other 
he  looked  at  his  (Jreat  Father,  the 
Snn.  First  thing  he  knew  he  winked  at 
his  Father.  A-nii-kons  ccmld  not  exidain 
Mhy  he  tlioiight  so,  but  he  soon  began  to 
feel  that  there  was  a  joke  on  somebody, 
and  he  actually  smiled,  lie  slyly  looked 
up  at  the  Sun,  but  the  Sun  was  smiling 
too,  and  maybe,  yes,  sir,  maybe  he 
winked  at  the  little  beaver. 

The  water  was  so  soft  on  top,  and  the 
air  above  the  water  so  Mann  and  gentle 
and  fragrant  that  A-mi-kons  could  not 
lie  still  another  minute.     He  shut  both 
his  eyes  tight,  and  kicked,  and  kicked. 
''How  fast   1  am  going,"  he  said,  when 
suddenly  —  hum-m-m-mmm  !!     '^O  dear 
me,"  A  nii-kons  said  half  aloud,  ''what 
is  this  di-eadful    noise?      O    my    nose! 
Perhaps  the  water  is  hard  on  top  after 
all!     O  dear!     O  dear!"  and  the  little 
beaver  almost  cried  out  loud. 

Just  then  two  tears  came  into  his  closed 
eyes.  "A-mi-kons,  let  us  out,"  they 
pleaded,  "let  us  out  quick,  A-mi-kons;" 
and  to  please  them  the  good  little  beaver 

21 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 


opened  his  eyes,  and  tliere,  ri<,djt  by  liis 
nose,  was  one  of  the  ])osls  of  the  j^reat 
beaver  dam  whieli  his  fatlier  and  motjjrr 
and  his  annts  and  nneles  and  everyone 
who  lived  in  the  beaver  villajje  liad  bnilt 
the  Fall  before.  That  seemed  a  very  long 
time  ago,  forever  since  then,  until  that 
very  morning,  the  top  of  the  water  had 
been  hard,  and  the  only  places  lie  could 
go  were  Just  in  the  water,  and  down  at 
the  bottom  of  the  river  to  play  in  the 
mud,  and  all  around  through  the  beaver 
house — into  every  room  and  out  again. 

Thus  thinking  of  the  long  sunless 
Winter  which  was  ended,  A-mi-kons 
crawled  up  tlie  post  against  which  he 
had  bumped  himself,  and  lay  down  on 
top  of  the  dam  to  think  and  feel  his  nose. 
Each  time  that  A-mi-kons  bumped  his 
nose  he  liked  to  feel  it  every  few  minutes 
to  see  whether  it  still  hurt. 

My,  how  his  nose  hurt  when  he  touched 
it!  As  he  lay  there  combing  the  water 
from  his  fur  with  his  hind  feet  the  soft 
sweet  air  whispered  in  liis  ears,  ' '  I  am 
Seegwung,  I  am  the  Spring."  A-mf- 
kons  looked  up  and  again  smiled  at  the 

22 


IS 

lit 


■,-i 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Sun,  iiiid  the  Hull  looked  down  uii  him 
and  touched  liiiii  jjjeiitly  and  said,  '•  1  am 
Seegwun*;,  I  am  the  Spriiij;."  A-mi- 
koiis  felt  his  own  little  heart  breathe,  and 
soon  he  heard  it  lispin<^,  ''  I  am  Seej^- 
wun<,',  I  am  the  Si)rin(j;,"  and  he  touchetl 
liis  nose  and  it  did  not  hurt  at  all. 

He  leaned  out  over  the  edge  of  the 
j)ost  to  look  at  his  face  in  the  water  to 
se«^  whether  his  nose  was 
swollen  —  when  all  at  once 
a  shadow  llitted  under  him, 
and  he  looked  uj).     There,  /| 

l)oised    in    the    air    like   a  /  m^ 

humming-bird      before     a      /    VfX 
flower,  he    saw   O  gish-ke-    /^r  ^ 

mun-ne-sa,  the  king-fisher. 
Suddenly  the  kingfisher  dropped  to- 
ward the  water  until  he  was  not  higher 
than  a  wild  plum  tree,  and  there  he 
l)oised  again  and  turned  his  head  to  one 
side  and  peered  into  the  water  looking 
for  little  fishes.  Down  he  dropped  again, 
making  the  water  splash  as  he  dived  into 
it,  and  caught  a  minnow  for  his  breakfast. 
When  A-mi-kons  saw  that  the  kingfisher 
flew  away  again  and  was  not  injured  the 
little  skeptic  caught  himself  saying,  "Of 
course  it's  all  water,  J  knew  it  was." 

23 


ji-ii    I 

Ml 


I 


:ui 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

.lust  thni  H\('  liir^'»'  swiiiis.  (tr  sunic 
lliiii;;s  like  swiiiis,  cuiiu'  iirouiid  the  hciid 
of  lh(»  livt'isibovc  liiinaiMl  swam  silently 
and  sNvillly  lowai'd  Ihr  dam.  "Tan^- 
j;-^^-j;liI  whshslislisli!  "*  soiiu'l  li  i  ii^" 
sliii(d<«'d,  and  A-ini-kons  instinct ivcly 
dodged  his  t'lmbhy  licad.  Urlorr  lie 
conld  say  ".)a(d<  Hooinson  *'  the  post 
was  nearly  knocked  iVoni  under  liini  and 
he  felt  hiniseir  beinji^  pnlled  under  the 
watei-  by  his  tail.  I'resently  he  knew 
that  his  in<>ther  was  talkinj;  to  him 
(hronj;h  lior  teeth  still  lioldinj;'  his  tail  in 
her  month  and  dra<^<!:in<i-  him  away. 
"Don't  yon  know  an  Indian  when  yon 
see  him?"  she  said.  They  slopjied  un- 
derneath the  dam  with  their  heads  out 
of  the  walei'  where  they  mi^ht  breathe 
and  look  out  throny;ii  the  sticks  v  ithout 
bein^-  seen  by  the  Indians. 

One  of  the  swans,  which  were  I'eally 
birch-bark  canoes,  came  toward  theuj, 
and  an  Indian  in  the  canoe  jmlled  liis 
arrow  out  of  the  i)ost  on  which  A-mi- 
kons  liad  been  lyiny-.  All  of  the  canoes 
were  paddled  to  the  shore  above  the  dam, 
and  the  nund)er  of  Indians  and  W(jua\vs 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

and  childien  iind  (l«);;-s  whicli  juiiipcd  on 
shore  nil  at  onci^  was  fiightrul.  The 
(lo^'S  barked  and  rolled  and  stretched 
and  ran  abont,  and  every  one  talked  and 
lanjjfhed  all  the  time. 

Soon  they  began  to  unload  their  eanoes 
and  carry  their  bundles  around  the  end 
of  the  beaver  dam   below   tl»e  shallow 
water  and  the  stones.     Even  the  little 
girls  carried  something  — a  pet  puppy, 
or  a  small  bundle  wrapped  up  in  a  deer 
skin,  or  anything  that   they  could  lug. 
There  were  a  great  many  bulfalo  robes, 
and  moose  skins,  aud  elk  skins,  and  packs 
of  warm  soft  beaver  furs  for  Winter  cloth- 
ing.   There  were  in  all  about  sixty  sacks 
of  what  the  Indians  call  pemmican,  which 
is  dried    buifalo    meat    torn    in    suuill 
pieces,  pounded  fine,  and  packed  in  a  bag 
made  of  buil'alo  skin.    After  it  is  packed 
in  the  bag  some  bullalo  fat  is  melted 
and  poured  over  the  meat,  and  sometimes 
they  mix  in  dried  huckleberries  too.    An 
Indian  prefers  pemmican  to  almost  any- 
thing else  for  Winter  food.     It  certainly 
is  good,  and  the  berries  in  it  make  it 
taste  rather  like   a   nice   Thanksgiving 

pudding. 

26 


S 


WW 


i  li 


I  '1 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

One  of  tlie  Judiaiis  took  a  small  moose 
skiu  and  tied  the  four  corners  together, 
like  the  corners  of  Ji  handkeichief,  and 
liung  this  moose-skin  bag  over  his  arm. 
He  reached  into  his  canoe  and  took  from 
it  half  a  dozen  whimpering  little  pnp- 
pies,  and  put  them  in  the  bag.  They 
Avere  all  blind  yet  except  two,  and  all 
of  them  were  mostly  legs.  Next  he 
stooped  down,  and,  fastening  the  pack- 
strap  over  his  forehead,  raised  uj)  with  a 
heavy  sack  of  pemmican  on  his  back  and 
the  puppies  on  his  arm.  They  wriggled 
and  squirmed  all  ^le  time,  and  A-mi- 
kons  nearly  laughed  out  loud  when  he 
saw  how  proud  and  foolish  the  mother- 
dog  looked  as  she  trotted  along  beside 
the  Indian,  never  once  taking  her  eyes 
off  that  squirming  puppy-sack,  and  never 
once  noticing  where  she  stepped. 

''There  is  Ki-niw,  the  AVar  Eagle,'' 
said  A-mi-kons'  mother,  pulling  }iis  ear 
partly  to  attract  his  attention  but  mostly 


so  that  he  would  not  laugh  aloud. 


If 


he  had  shot  at  you  when  you  lay  day- 
dreaming on  the  dam,  you  Avould  not  be 
liere  now.     He   never  misses  what  he 

shoots  at." 

26 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

A-mi-kons  watched  the  Indiiui  whose 
name  was  War  Eagle,  and  he  liked  hini, 
for  he  carried  a  larger  load  of  skins  and 
penimican  than  he  allowed  his  Squaw  to 
carry.     And   doubtless  he  was  a  good 
hunter  too,  for  after  all  of  the  other  In- 
dians had  carried  their  packs  and  canoes 
below  the  dam,  Ki-niw  had  scarcely  un- 
loaded half  of  his.     It  must  have  been 
almost  evening  before  his  canoe  was  all 
unloaded,  and   A-mi-kons  was  startled 
from  some  thoughts  which  little  beavers 
always  have  by  hearing  an  Indian  down 
below  the  dam  calling,  ''Ki-niw,  are  you 

coming'?" 

When  the  little  beaver  looked  there 
wius  Ki-niw  above  the  dam  sitting  on  his 
last  load,  but  his  Squaw  was  nowhere  in 

sight. 

Ki-niw  got  up  and  walked  a  short  dis- 
tance until  he  could  see  the  other  Indians 
below  the  dam  in  their  canoes  ready  to 
start,  then  he  answered,  "  Y es. "  '  'Where 
is  Jiii-gwak?"  called  back  the  other 
Indians  (Jiii-gwak,  meaning  Tine-tree, 
was  the  name  of  Ki-niw' s  Squaw ) .  '  'She 
has  gone  into  the  forest  to  set  a  partridge- 
snare,  I  think,"  Ki-niw  answered  with- 
out a  smile. 

27 


•ii 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 


A  p!irti'i(l<^e-snaro,  wiuit   is  that 


■9  n 


i 


I 


said  the  beaver,  and  down  he  di\ed  un- 
der the  water,  sphisliing  it  all  over  his 
mother  with  his  tail  as  he  went  under, 
lie  swam  up  stream  and  got  among  the 
rushes  near  the  shore,  where  he  looked 
out  and  listened.  Scai'cely  had  he  raised 
his  head  when  he  heard  the  faintest 
little  erv. 

Then  the  Squaw  eame  out  of  tlie  forest 
and  straight  down  the  river  bank  to  the 
water's  edge.  There  she  stooped  down 
and  opened  hei-  arms  and  out  of  the  folds 
of  her  buckskin  garments  she  brought  a 
tiny  Indian  babe.  How  rosy  and  soft 
and  beautiful  it  was,  and  how  gently  the 
mother  bathed  it  in  the  cold  fresh  watei' 
as  though  she  thought  it  would  break; 
and  now  the  little  beaver  was  not  afraid 
any  longer  but  wanted  to  touch  the  tiny 
thing  with  his  warm  soft  fui-. 

As  the  happy  Hquaw  laid  the  naked 
babe  next  to  her  warm  mother's  breast 
and  folded  it  about  with  her  garments 
and  started  to  walk  away  the  beaver 
heard  her  sing  this  pretty  song: 

lis 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

"O  my  little  Blue  Bird, 
O  luy  little  Blue  Bird, 
Mother  knew  that  you  would  come, 
■Mother  knew  that  you  would  come. 
When  the  ice  lets  go  the  river, 
When  the  wild-geese  come  again, 
When  the  sugar-maple  swells, 
When  the  maple  swells  its  buds, 
Then  the  little  blue  birds  come, 
Tlien  my  little  Blue  Bird  came." 

The  young  beaver  had  never  heard  any- 
thing one  half  so  sweet.  He  bad  never 
seen  any  tiling  one  half  so  beautiful  as  that 
little  babe.  He  forgot  that  he  was  a  bea- 
ver, and  came  right  out  of  the  water  and 
listened  and  looked  and  trembled  with 

.joy-  .     , 

As  the  Squaw  came  near  Ki-niw,  her 
husband,  she  stopped  singing,  and  said, 
"My  husband,  I  have  brought  you  an 
Ojibwa  warrior."  When  Ki-niw  heard 
this  he  arose  from  his  seat  and  turned  and 
looked  at  her  and  went  to  meet  her.  To- 
gether they  lifted  the  garments  from  her 
breast  and  peeped  in  at  the  new-born 
babe.  "Yes,  I  see  you  have,"  he  said. 
He  gently  covered  up  the  babe  again,  and 
took  the  Squaw's  face  in  his  hands  and 

'2d 


m 


i;-l 
i<'i 


•  1  * 

:  f 

Childhood  of  Jt-shib' 

kissed  her.  Then  lie  stooped  down  and 
lifted  onto  his  own  strong  back  both  his 
pack  of  peniniican  and  hers,  and  side  by 
side  they  started  around  the  dam. 

But  Ki-niw  heard  a  slight  noise  behind 
him,  and  whirling  around  saw  the  little 
beaver  almost  at  his  feet.  ' '  Tang  whist, ' ' 
hissed  his  arrow. 

As  A-mi-kons  wai.vcd  after  the  Squaw 
he  was  humming  to  himself: 

"O  my  little  Blue  Bird, 
O  my  little  Blue  Bird, 
Motlier  knew  that  you  would  come, 
Mother  liuew  that  you  would  come. 
Wlieu  the  ice  lets  go  the  river, 
When  the  wild-geese  come  again, 
When  the  sugar-maple  swells,"  —  —  — 

and  he  scai'cely  hoard  the  hissing  of  Ki- 
niw' s  arrow, — but  suddenly  he  felt  sick. 
It  grew  dark,  he  could  scarcely  breathe; 
he  thought  that  he  had  fainted,  or  any- 
way he  must  be  asleep. 

But  it  grew  light  again,  and  O!  his 
Father,  the  Hun,  was  so  warm  and  close 
to  him;  and  the  beaver  hummed  with  per- 
fect joy  this  little  song: 

30 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

"  When  the  sugar-maple  swells, 
Then  the  little  blue  birds  come. 
Yes,  my  little  Blue  Bird, 
I  have  come,  A-mf-kons  has  come." 

Over  and  over  again  for  days  he  softly 
sang  to  himself  this  song,  and  when  finally 
he  awoke  he  found  that  his  warm  soft  fur 
was  touching  the  Indian  babe.  Presently 
the  Squaw  came  and  took  them  both  in 
her  arms  and  kissed  the  babe  and  stroked 
with  her  hand  the  little  beaver's  fur. 

Thus  the  beaver  had  become  the  com- 
panion of  the  little  babe  whose  name 
was  soon  to  be  Ji-shib. 


31 


if 


CHAPTER  TWO 
In  Which  The   Beaver  Learns  To 
Know  An  Indian  When  He  Sees 
Him,  And  Also  Other  Things  Indian 


mmmmmmi'^* 


Si 


ll    1 


111 


';! 


I      ! 


U  m 


s 


S  the  days  and  moons  flew  by 

into  tlie  past  the  little  Blue  Bird 

grew  rapidly. 

One  day  A-mi-kons  tried  to 

think  of  all  the  things  which 
had  happened  since  he  fell  asleep,  and 
since  he  awoke. 

And  then  it  came  back  to  him,  jis 
though  from  a  dream,  how  they  went  be- 
low the  dam,  he  and  the  Blue  Bird  and 
the  Squaw  and  Ki-niw,  and  how  they 
floated  down  Chippeway  river  in  their 
birch-bark  canoe;  and  how  they  stopped 
on  shore  at  night,  and  Ki-niw  helped  his 
Squaw  build  her  wigwam,  while  the  other 
Indians  sat  around  and  smoked  and  left 
their  Squaws  to  work  alone;  and  he  re- 
membered too  that  all  of  the  Indians  and 
Squaws  and  children  came  into  the  wig- 
wam that  night  and  sat  down  around  the 
fire  and  smoked  a  pipe.     Every  one  ate 


.1 


I      'I 


<if. 


u 

f  ■ 

i: 


35 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib 


I 


some  venison  and  ducks  wlucli  Ki-niw 
had  shot  that  day  along  tlie  river,  and 
each  one  had  to  eat  all  that  wius  placed 
before  him.  Afterwards  they  were  all 
silent  until  an  old  Indian  thanked  the 
Good  Spirits  for  their  successful  Winter- 
hunt —  which  the  canoe  loads  showed 
had  been  very  good.  Soon  the  old  In- 
dian spoke  to  little  Blue  Bird  (just  as 
though  he  could  understand  )  and  told 
liim  that  he  must  be  a  good  baby,  so  that 
he  would  be  a  good  man.  He  must  be- 
come a  skillful  hunter  like  Ki-niw,  his 
father.  He  must  become  a  great  warrior 
such  as  his  grandfather  and  father  were. 
Then  they  were  all  silent  and  smoked 
again  until  the  oldest  Indian  in  the  wig- 
wam gave  a  name  to  Blue  Bird,  saying, 
''  His  name  shall  be  Ji-shil),"  the  Duck; 
and  so  it  was, —  but  A-mi-kons  and  the 
Squaw  always  thought  of  him  and  always 
called  him  lit^'e  ''Blue  Bird." 

The  beaver  laughed  when  he  remem- 
bered that  the  Blue  Bird  Just  lay  still 
and  slept  all  that  first  evening  while  the 
people  were  in  the  wigwam  and  while 
they  talked  and  smoked;  but  Ki-niw 
and  the  Squaw  were  there  and  some  day 
they  would  tell  him  all. 

36 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

A-iui-kons  know  all  this  for  lio  was 
wrapped  around  the  r>lue  Bird  and  his 
soft  fur  touched  the  baby  and  kept  him 
warm. 

As  he  thought  of  all  these  things  he 
i-emembered  about  winking  at  the  Sun 
and  bumping  his  nose  and  splashing  wa- 
ter on  his  mother  with  his  tail.  Instinct- 
ively he  tried  to  wriggle  his  tail  again, 
and  then  for  the  lirst  time  he  noticed 
that  it  was  gone.  "  Jiut  what  good  is  a 
beaver's  tail  anyway?"  he  said  with 
beaver-like  philosophy.  ''Of  course  it 
is  nice  to  sit  on  when  you  are  tired.  It 
is  good  to  splash  water  with,  and  it  is 
good  to  spank  down  the  mud  with  when 
you  are  building  the  dam,  but  that  is  all. 
It  is  not  pretty  ;  in  fact  it  is  plain-look- 
ing. It  would  not  help  to  keep  the  l)aby 
warm,  for  it  has  no  fur  on  and  is  all  cov- 
ered with  scales.  A  beaver  likes  his  tail 
because  it  is  his,  and  he  always  takes  it 
with  him.  I  really  do  not  believe  that 
a  beaver  ever  would  cut  his  own  tail,  but 
yet,"  said  the  beaver-philosopher,  ''I 
would  rather  have  my  little  Blue  Bird 
than  a  string  of  tails." 

37 


II  -m 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

A  mi-koiis  also  leiiuMiibciod  lliiil  they 
lloatod  furtluH'  and  faillier  down  the 
Chippoway  river  until  they  eame  to  an 
oirhai'd  of  sugar-maples,  where  they 
stoi)ped  for  one  whole  month  while  the 
Sijnaws  made  maple-sugar.  And  when 
the  leaves  began  to  peep  out  on  the  trees 
the  Indians  took  down  their  wigwams 
and  packed  their  eanoes  with  pemmican 
and  furs  and  sugar,  and  lloated  on  and 
on  down  the  rivei".  liy  and  by  they 
stopped  and  unloaded  their  canoes  again. 
They  carried  all  the  things  on  their  backs 
tlirough  the  forest  and  across  a  beautiful 
green  meatlow,  and  there  iu  a  small 
creek  they  again  packed  them  in  their 
canoes  and  started  on.  Soon  the  creek 
got  wider  and  wider  still,  when  all  at 
once  their  canoes  glided  out  on  a  shin- 
ing lake  with  a  name  so  long  that  the 
beaver  could  not  pronounce  it. 

It  was  a  beautiful  large  lake  with  for- 
ests of  pine  holding  it  in,  and  all  along 
the  shore  there  were  now  and  then  white- 
barked  trees  of  the  canoe-birch,  which 
looked  like  cracks  of  sunlight  among  the 
dark  green  pines.    Two  arms  of  the  pine- 

88 


'- 


1.1    1'^ 


P".rii|jj|pf'<|| 


*t|M  I       V  '  *  i     ««••'•'••<• 


nil 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

covered  shore  niiiched  out  toward  the 
middle  of  the  hike  and  nearly  took  hold 
of  hands,  but  yet  the  lake  stole  thiouj^h 
between  their  finjjfei-tipH,  so  that,  in  all 
except  the  driest  weeks  of  the  Summer, 
the  lijjht-runninf;  canoes  glided  snutothly 
over  the  jx^jbly  bottom  from  one  part  of 
the  lake  to  the  other. 

.Ti-shil')  lived  with  his  father  and 
mother  and  f,n'andparents  on  th(5  east 
shore  of  the  lake.  All  aroun<l  them 
wei-e  other  wijjjwams,  foi*  in  the  Summer 
a  larjj;e  villaj^e  was  built  up  there,  al- 
though in  the  Autumn  the  place 
was  nearly  deserted,  groups  of  four  or 
five  wigwams  going  away  together  to 
hunt  buffalo  and  moose  and  beaver  dur- 
ing the  Wintei-  months. 

The  moon  of  tlowers,  which  we  call 
the  month  of  ^fay,  wcs  far  along  before 
Ji-shiiVs  motlier  had  her  Summer  wig- 
wam built,  and  every  one  liad  seen  every 
one  else,  and  learned  who  had  died,  and 
who  had  been  born  since  the  village  broke 
up  at  the  beginning  of  Winter. 

3y 


;|i   i : 


i  r^  - 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

During  uli  of  tlie  Suiniiier-time  little 
Ji-shil)  was  the  pet  of  the  wigMam.  At 
first  he  lay  among  tlie  soft  furs  at  tlie 
farther  side  of  the  wigwam  and  slept. 
Eaeh  forenoon  and  afternoon  liis  mother 
or  grandmotlier  tied  liini  into  his  board 
cradle  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  there  he 
slept  just  the  same.  Sometimes  strings 
of  buckskin  were  fastened  to  both  ends 
of  Jiis  cradle,  and  it  was  hung  up  across 
the  wigwam  where  the  puppies  could  not 
get  tangled  up  witli  the  baby,  and  \\iere 
he  could  swing  and  swing. 

In  the  Fall  of  the  year  he  used  some- 
times to  cry,  if  they  forgot  to  tie  him  in 
his  cradle,  for  that  was  such  a  nice  place 
to  sleep,  all  tucked  and  tied  in  so  that  he 
could  not  roll  off  and  wake  himself  up; 
and  there  the  soft  white  moss  under  him 
and  around  him  did  not  make  him  half 
so  hot  as  it  did  to  lie  on  the  furs. 

At  times  the  Squaw  took  Ji-shil^  in 
her  canoe  and  paddled  across  the  lake 
to  the  west  village,  and  sometimes  when 
she  was  not  in  a  hurry  she  let  the  canoe 
turn  around  until  it  was  almost  in  the 

40 


'.I 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

trough  of  the  shallo     waves,  and  there 
she  held  it  with   her  paddle  while  the 
waves  sang  breathless  little  songs  against 
its  side,  and  gently  rocked  it  to  and  fro. 
And  once  Ji-shib,  the  little  rascal,  said 
''coo-coo"   and   ''goo-goo"  in  Indian. 
The  happy  mother  caught  him  up  and 
whispered  half  aloud  in  his  ear,  "  O,  my 
little  Blue  Bird,  mother  feared  that  you 
would  grow  up  to  be  an  old  Squaw  be- 
cause you  live  so  nuich  in  the  wigwam, 
but  T  see  now  that  you  are  to  be  a  great 
orator,   for  you  hear  the  voice  of  the 
Spirits  as  they  speak  to  you  in  the  wind 
and  in  the  water,  and  you  answer  them." 

Late  in  the  Autumn  they  all  went  far 
up  Chippeway  river  and  then  through  the 
forest,  and  built  their  warm  Winter  wig- 
wams at  the  edge  of  a  small  prairie.  In 
the  Spring,  back  they  came  again  with 
their  canoes  piled  high  with  pemmican 
and  furs. 

One  day  in  the  early  Summer  Ji-shi6 
missed  his  cradle  and  he  cried,  then  he 
missed  it  the  next  day  and  the  next.  It 
was  years  after  that  before  he  learned 
where  it  had  been.     There  leaning  up 

41 


')l 


Childhood  of  Ji-Bhib' 


fii  '1  I 


Iti  ::i 


II 


against  a  tree  near  tlie  wigwam  it  had 
stood  for  days  and  days,  telling  to  every 
one  who  passed  this  simple  tale:  ''I 
used  to  be  Ji-shilj's  cradle,  but  he  has 
outgrown  me  now,  he  is  almost  a  war- 


rior, 


7J 


The  second  Summer  and  Winter,  and 
the  third  and  fourth  Summers  and  AVin- 
ters  passed  as  had  the  first.  During  the 
warm  Summers  Ji-shi^  played  about  the 
wigwam.  He  had  a  little  bow  and  ar- 
row, and  little  pails  made  of  birch  bark ; 
and  every  Summer  there  were  a  great 
many  playful  puppies  with  tails  to  pull, 
and  there  were  dozens  of  children  like 
himself.  All  the  long  Summer  the 
smaller  boys  ran  around  with  nothing  on 
except  a  string  of  shells  around  their 
necks,  and  some  of  them  had  not  even 
that;  but  most  of  the  little  girls  wore 
buckskin  shirts  without  sleeves. 

Some  days  they  all  played  hide  and 
seek  among  the  wigwams  and  the  maize 
and  the  forest  near  the  village.  Some 
days  they  waded  in  the  lake  and 
floated  their  tiny  birch-bark  canoes,  and 
sometimes  they  played  war-party.  Part 
of  the  boys  would   be  Sioux  and  part 

42 


j 
i  I 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Ojibwa,    and    in    some   way   it   always 
turned   out   that  the    Ojibwa    warriors 
were  victorious  —  even  though  a  part  of 
the  Sioux  liad  to  die,  and  get  scalped, 
and  then  crawl  off  as  though  not  seen 
and   later  join   the  victorious  Avarriors 
with  a  loud  war-cry.    Once  when  Ji-shib 
led  his  warriors  against  the  Sioux,  their 
war-cry  made  the  dogs  bark  and  duck 
under  the  wigwams  with  their  tails  be- 
tween their  legs  and  the  hair  bristling 
straight  up  on  their  backs  — not  know- 
ing whether  thev  were  the  most  fright- 
ened  or  angry. 

The  little  girls  built  play  wigwams  of 
birch  bark,  and  played  that  they  were 
Squaws  with  babies  of  their  own.     One 
day  when  they  were  all  playing  grown-ups 
Ji-shil')  came  home  to   his  play-Squaw 
and    wigwam  dragging  an  innocent  re- 
bellious puppy  by  the  hind  leg.     He  left 
it  outside  by  the  door  of  the  wigwam, 
and  walked  in  with   much  dignity,  and 
sat  down  in  his  place.     By  and  by  he 
said  in  lisping  baby-Indian:     '^  Squaw, 
I  just  killed  a  great  big  bear,  go  skin 
him,  I  am  hungry.'' 

43 


1 


i 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

The  obedient  little  Squaw  went  out 
silently  only  to  find  half  a  dozen  bears, 
like  the  one  Ji-shil)  had  killed,  having  a 
tug-of-war  over  an  old  moccasin. 


If 


Nearly  every  evening  Ji-shilVs  grand- 
mother told  him  stories.  Neither  he 
nor  the  beaver  could  remember  half  of 
them,  but  there  was  one  which  the 
beaver  never  forgot  because  it  was  about 
beavers. 

''Many,  many  Summers  ago,"  the 
grandmother  said,  ''beavers  climbed 
trees  like  squirrels  and  ran  swiftly  on 
the  ground  like  foxes,  but  they  did  not 
eat  ducks  and  birds,  they  ate  nothing 
except  wood  —  like  willow  and  young 
poplar  and  birch.  They  had  large  white 
teeth  which  Manido  had  given  them  to 
eat  the  v/ood  with,  and  they  used  to  gnaw 
down  many  more  young  trees  than  they 
could  eat.  So  Manido  sent  the  wood- 
pecker to  tell  them  not  to  cut  down  more 
trees  than  they  needed  for  food,  because 
very  soon  the  wood-pecker  would  have 
no  trees  in  which  to  build  her  nest. 

44 


ChUdhoodof  Ji-shib' 


! 


''Still  they  kept  on  cutting  down  the 
trees,  and  Manido  sent  the  eagle  to  tell 
the  beavers  that  they  must  obey  or  he 
would  fasten  a  great  load  to  them  which 
they  could  scarcely  drag  along,  and  thus 
the  Indians  could  easily  catch  them  and 
kill  them ;  but  still  they  cut  the  trees  down. 
Then  Manido  became  angry,  and  sent  a 
disease  into  the  beavers'  tails.   Their  tails 
swelled  and  swelled  and  burned,  and  all 
of  the  fur  dropped  off.     In  order  to  stop 
the  painful  swelling  and  burning  they 
dipped    their    tails    in   the   water,  and 
soon  they  saw  that  the  water  helped 
to  hold  them  up,  so  that  they  were  not  so 
heavy  to  drag  around.     Now,  as  may  be 
imagined,   the  beavers  and   ducks  had 
always  been  good  friends,  because  bea- 
vers did  not  eat  ducks  and  ducks  did  not 
eat  either  beavers  or  wood,  and,  being 
good  friends,  the  ducks  told  the  beavers 
how  to  grow  hind  feet  like  their  own, 
and   before  long    the    beavers    became 
expert  swimmers.    But  still  they  gnawed 
down  trees  which  they  rolled  into  the 
rivers  and  creeks  to  make  dams.     They 
used  their  big  flat  tails  to  spank  down 

45 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 


;•- "  viiooth  oft'  the  mud  with  when 
they  made  the  dams.  Wlien  ^lanido  saw 
ail  this  '"^  said,  'The 'beaver  is  the 
wisest  amirial  \  have  made.  If  I  am 
ever  in  trouble,  I  shall  send  for  the 
beaver  to  help  me  out.'  " 

After  learning  this  story  the  little 
beaver  was  very  proud  of  his  ancestors, 
and  Ji-shilj  received  his  first  lesson  in  the 
wisdom  of  the  beaver  —  a  fact  which  he 
never  attempted  to  dispute.  In  time  he 
came  to  know  that  the  beaver  was  the 
wisest  of  all  animals. 

46 


!    I 


CHAPTER  THREE 

In  Which  Ji-shib  Becomes  A  Little 
Medicine-Man 


Ill 


V'l 

>  ■  I 

i  I 


I  wo  Smumers  after 
this,  when  Ji-shil) 
was  six  years  old,  his 
father  was  one  day 
coming  home  along 
the  forest  trail  near 
the  village,  when  his 
keen  eyes  sighted  the  little  fellow  trudg- 
ing toward  him  with  his  bow  and  ar- 
rows.  Ki-niw  stepped  aside  into  the 
bushes,  and,  as  Ji-shi1j  got  opposite  hi  a, 
purposely  broke  a  dry  stick  with  his  foot. 
As  the  stick  cracked  aloud  the  little 
fellow  stopped  suddenly  with  his  eyes 
toward  the  bush  behind  which  his  father 
was  hidden.  When  Ji-shilj  turned  half 
way  around,  and  could  see  neither  friend 
nor  wigwam,  his  fluttering  hunter-heart 
gave  way,  and  he  ran  back  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  village.     The  father  waited 

49 


■*' 


Childhood  of  Jt-shib 


until  he  tliouglit  that  the  boy  \v;is  out  of 
sight  down  the  tiail,  Avhen  suddenly  he 
heard  the  'Mang"  of  a  tiny  bow- 
string, an  arrow  came  gliding  at  him 
through  the  bush,  and  he  peeped  out  to 
see  the  little  hunter  turn  away  again  and 
run  home  like  a  deer.  That  night  after 
the  children  were  all  asleep  in  the  vil- 
lage, Ki-niw  walked  among  the  wigwams 
and  told  the  story  over  and  over  again, 
although  he  said  that  he  had  never  seen 
a  child  run  half  so  fast. 


M 


'I' 
I' 
I'. 


In  the  Autumn,  after  the  maize  and 
squashes  and  beans  wei-e  all  gathered 
from  the  gardens  and  hidden  in  holes, 
like  large  pockets  in  the  ground,  and 
after  the  Indians  had  gathered  their 
harvest  of  wild  rice,  something  unusual 
happened  in  the  life  of  Ji-shil)  —  he 
joined  the  Grand  Medicine  Society.  This 
Society  is  one  which  all  Ojibwa  boys  and 
Indians,  and  most  of  the  girls  and 
Squaws  used  to  join  before  the  whitemen 
came  to  America.  And  this  is  the  way 
Ji-shi^  became  a  little  Medicine-Man. 

50 


Ji' 


r( 


■ 


ChUdhoodof  Ji-shib' 

One  iiiglit  two  old  Iiuliiuis  ciuiio  into 
tlie  wigwam  and  sat  down  and  smoked. 
They  were  lamous  :Medicine-Men.     One 
of  them  was  as  tall  and  straiglit  as  a 
spear-handle.     His  hair  was  black,  with 
scarcely  a  streak  of  white  in  it,  and  yet 
he  was  very  old,  for  lon.u-  deep  creases 
were  in  his  face.     The  other  man  was 
small  and  wrinkled,  and  his  hair  was  al- 
most white,  but  he  was  as  agile  as  a 
squirrel.     Ji-shil')  looked  with  reverence 
on  these  men,  for  they  could  do  almost 
everything. 

They  could  make  it  rain  or  make  the 
wind  blow.  They  could  prepare  ''good 
medicine, ' '  so  that  a  hunter  could  shoot  as 
many  deer  as  he  wanted,  or  catch  plenty 
of  fish.  If  they  desired,  they  coidd  pi-e- 
pare  "bad  medicine"  to  make  a  person's 
mouth  crooked;  and  if  anyone  was  sick, 
they  could  cure  him.  If  an  Indian  fell 
in  love  with  a  young  Squaw,  and  wanted 
to  marry  her,  these  old  men  could  make 
"love  medicine,"  wrapped  up  in  a  small 
piece  of  buckskin,  and  if  the  Indian- 
lover  did  with  it  exactly  what  the  old 
men  told  him  to  do,  the  young  Squaw 
would  want  to  marry  him. 

51 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 


lil 


I'f    '    ^  I ' 


li 


1|: 


Tlicy  could  also  talk  (o  (ho  Spirits  — 
both  the  (I  ood  Spirits  and  the  I^ad  Spirits; 
and  because:  these  Spirits  knew  them, 
tliey  told  liie  3redieiMe-]\[eu  what,  to  do 
and  also  how  to  do  it. 

The  little  boys  and  girls  never  played 
jokes  on  ."Medicine-Men,  for  these  wise 
old  men  could  see  them,  though  they 
might  l>e  far  away  in  the  forest.  They 
could  see  liiem,thougli  tliey  were  in  their 
wigwams  witli  their  eyes  shut  and  fast 
asleep;  and  if  the  little  boys  and  girls 
were  caught  at  it,  the  Medicine-]\Ien 
would  make  their  mouths  ci'ooked,  or 
make  their  fathers  and  mothers  die.  So 
when  an  old  I\Iedicinc-]\[au  came  into 
another  Indian's  wigwam,  everyone  was 
good  to  him  and  listened  to  wduit  he 
said. 

By  and  by  the  tall  old  Medicine-Man, 
sitting  there  in  the  wigwam,  threw  a 
little  of  his  tobacco  in  the  fire,  then  he 
took  a  medicine  drum  from  under  his 
deerskin  blanket,  and  began  to  drum  on 
it  with  a  stick.  Presently  lie  stopped 
drumming,  and  told   Ji-shilj  about   the 


5 


I 


I 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

drum  which  he  had.  "This  (Inini,"  he 
said,  "was  givoii  to  us  by  I\[anido,  the 
Sacred  Spirit.  When  it  is  used  the 
Sacred  Si)irits,  who  guard  o\  (^r  the  Medi- 
cine Society,  listen  to  what  is  said  to 
them  and  do  what  is  asked.  If  any 
one  is  sick  and  this  drum  is  used  by  his 
side,  it  will  help  to  drive  out  the  Bad 
Spirits  which  nuike  the  x>oor  man  sick. 
Ji-shilj,"  he  said,  "after  four  nights 
you  will  join  the  Medicine  Society,  and 
this  sacred  drum  will  be  used.  You 
will  then  be  a  little  Medicine-lMan,  but 
there  will  be  many  more  things  which 
you  Clin  learn  about  the  Sacred  Spirits 
and  their  medicines,  so  when  you  join 
the  Medicine  Society  again,  as  you  will 
in  after  years,  and  become  a  bigger 
Medicine-Man,  this  drum  must  be  used 
again,  for  the  Sacred  Spirits  will  then 
listen  to  what  you  say." 

The  old  Indian  stopped  talking,  and 
the  other  old  Medicine-Man  held  up  a 
gourd  with  kernels  of  corn  inside  of  it, 
and  rattled  it.  Soon  he  stopped  rattling, 
and  told  Ji-shil3  how  Manido  had  given 
them  the  rattle  also.     He  said  that  it 

63 


'II 

■m 
m 


tamasifTixmsxsfxsfTSPsmSi 


i 


f    I  i 


THE. 


Medicine-Man 

was    an   awful 

Certainly  the 


ChUdhoodofJi-shib' 

was  even  more  powerful  than  tlie  drum 
to  drive  away  Bad  Spirits  from  a  sick 
man,  and  that  in  the  IMedicine  Society 
the  rattle  must  be  used  with  the  drum 
wlien  songs  were  sung  to  the  Sacred 
Spirits. 

When  the  last  old 
stopped  talking,  there 
silence  in  the  wigwam. 
Sacred  Spirits  must  be  there,  because  it 
was  so  breathless  and  so  still.  Little 
Ji-shilj  felt  his  heart  thumping  as  though 
it  were  trying  to  get  out  and  run  away. 
He  never  felt  so  lonely  and  homesick  in 
all  his  life.  He  began  to  fear  that  he 
and  every  one  else  in  the  wigwam  was 
dead. 

The  beaver  was  just  as  much  impressed 
as  Ji-shilj  was,  and  wondered  what  made 
him  feel  so  strange  in  the  great  dread- 
ful silence.  Of  course  it  must  be  that 
the  Sacred  Spirits  were  there,  and  that 
the  Medicine-Men  and  the  father  and 
mother  of  Ji-shib,  and  even  Ji-shilj  him- 
self, could  see  them.  How  sharp  their 
eyes  were,  and  how  acute  their  ears  were, 
to  hear  the  voice  of  the  Sacred  Spirits, 

54 


liii'i 


• 


I 


s 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

when  all  that  he  could  hear  was  just  a 
terrible  stillness  that  hurt  his  ears,  and 
he  wished  —  how  he  wished  —  that  it 
would  stop. 

The  fire  snapped  a  burning  splinter 
into  the  lap  of  the  good  Squaw,  and  she 
brushed  it  away  with  her  finger-tips. 
Only  then  did  Ji-shil')  have  courage  to 
look  up,  and  when  the  beaver  saw  his 
eyes  he  felt  all  right  again.  Then  the 
old  Medicine-]Men  druinmed  and  rattled, 
and  the  drummer  sang  a  song,  to  which 
the  drum  and  rattle  beat  time,  some- 
times faster,  sometimes  slower,  sometimes 
louder,  and  again  almost  dying  away. 
He  sang  to  the  Sacred  Spirits  about 
medicines,  and  then  he  sang  to  Ji-shib 
what  the  Sacred  Spirits  whispered  back 
to  him  to  say.  He  sang  each  sentence 
over  and  over  again  until  Ji-shib  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  This  is  what  he 
sang: 

"  Pico,  :;a,  ho,  ho,  ho-ho,  ho! 

I  hear  the  Spirits  speaking  to  us, 
I  hear  the  Spirits  speaking  to  us. 

The  Spirits  say  there  is  plenty  of  medicine 

in  the  Medicine-Wigwam, 
The  Spirits  say  there  is  plenty  of  medicine 

in  the  Medieiue-Wigwani : 

Hee,  ya,  ho-ho,  ho-ho,  ho,  hoo,  ho-ho  I  " 
55 


:l 


!■ 


wm 


Childhood  of  Ji-shxb' 

As  soon  as  he  finished  this  song  he 
kept  silent,  and  that  strange  dreadful 
stillness  filled  the  wigwam. 

After  a  short  time,  which  seemed  a 
thousand  moons  to  Jishil^,  the  Medicine- 
]VIen  again  sang  to  the  Sacred  Spirits, 
and  the  drum  and  rattle  sounded.  After 
they  had  finished  singing  for  that  night, 
and  had  smoked,  the  ]\[edicine-Men  had 
something  to  eat,  and  then  they  past  out 
into  the  darkness  and  went  home. 

That  night,  as  Ji-shil')  lay  asleep,  a 
beautiful  young  Indian  seemed  to  come 
down  through  the  smoke-hole  in  the  top  of 
the  wigwam  and  look  at  him  and  say: 
'*  I  bring  you  medicine  to  make  you  live. 
You  will  find  it  in  a  beaver  skin."  The 
young  Indian  then  raised  the  buffalo- 
skin  flap  of  the  door,  and  went  out. 
Ji-shil')  awoke,  and  saw  only  the  skin  at 
the  doorway  flapping,  and  above  his 
head  a  thin  gray  smoke  weaving  lazily 
from  the  fire  and  passing  out  toward  the 
stars. 

For  four  nights  those  old  Medicine- 
Men  came  to  the  wigwam  and  sang  Sa- 
cred Spirit  songs.    Each  night  they  sang 

56 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

ten  of  them;  and  eaoli  niglit,  -while  .Ti- 
shil)  slept,  the  youn<j:  Indian  seemed  to 
come  and  tell  him  that  he  wonld  find 
medicine  in  the  beavot-  skin.  Sometimes 
daring  those  awl'ul  silences,  betM'cen  Ihe 
songs,  he  could  hear  drums  and  singing 
in  other  wigwams,  for  others  besides 
himself  were  going  to  join  the  Grand 
Medicine  Society. 

On  the  morning  after  the  Iburth  night — 
that  great  day  when  Ji-shib  was  to  be- 
come a  little  ]\[edicine-]\[an — he  went 
out  to  look  at  the  medicine  wigwam, 
which  the  Squaws  had  built  the  day  be- 
fore. There  it  was,  a  long  series  of 
small  poles  stuck  in  the  ground  and  tied 
together  in  the  middle.  They  some- 
what resembled  the  spi-ings  of  giant  rabbit 
snares.  The  wigwam  was  all  open  to  the 
sky,  but  the  sides  near  the  ground  were 
closed  in  by  tamarack  boughs 
leaned  against  them.  And  down  the 
middle  of  the  wigwam,  from  one  end  to 
the  other,  as  far  as  he  could  have  shot 
his  arrow,  were  buffalo  skins,  and  moose 
skins,  and  deer  skins  hanging  up;  and 
there  were  moccasins,  and  leggings  and 

57 


Childhood  of  Ji-  shib' 

shirts  of  buckskin,  and  there  were  two 
packs  of  beaver  furs,  and  skin  bags  full 
of  wild  rice  and  others  of  maize.  And 
there  were  other  things,  too,  hanging  up, 
and  they  were  all  given  by  his  father,  and 
other  lathers  whose  children  were  to  join 
the  Society;  but  if  grown-up  Squaws 
and  Indians  joined,  they  gave  the  things 
themselves.  They  were  all  to  be  given 
to  the  old  ]Medicine-Men  who  had  sung 
thOvSe  four  past  nights,  and  who  would 
help  on  this  greatest  of  all  days.  Down 
through  the  middle  of  the  wigwam  there 
were  four  posts  set  in  the  ground,  and 
one  of  them  was  where  Ji-shib  was  to 
stand  and  sit,  and  wliere  all  of  the  In- 
dians and  S(iuaws  would  dance  around 
him. 

By  and  by  things  were  ready,  and 
all  at  once  every  wigwam  in  the  vil- 
lage seemed  to  burst  open  and  let  out 
a  swarm  of  people.  The  Indians  had 
their  faces  painted.  They  had  eagle 
feathers  in  their  liair,  and  buihiio-hoof 
rattles  on  their  ankles,  and  all  of  the 
Indians  and  Squaws  had  animal  skins  in 
their  hands  or  tucked  under  their  belts. 

58 


1 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Some  had  beaver  skins,  some  fox  skins, 
others  skins  of  hawks,  and  some  few  had 
black  and  tan  skins  of  baby  bears.  Some 
of  the  Indians  had  as  many  as  four  of 
these  skins.  These  were  the  sacred 
medicine  bags  in  wliich  was  the  sacred 
medicine;  .Ti-shib  was  also  to  have  one 
of  them  with  medicine  in  it,  so  that 
when  he  got  sick  he  would  not  die. 

After  they  had  marched  into  the  long 
medicine  wigwam,  at  the  door  toward 
the  rising  ^un,  they  marched  around  and 
around  inside,  and  then  sat  down.  Every 
one  smoked,  and  ate  wild  rice  in  dog 
soup,  and  the  old  ]Medicine-Men  spoke. 
They  told  the  other  Indians,  who  were 
listening,  always  to  live  quietly,  never 
to  steal  from  their  friends,  never  to  mis- 
use their  friends,  never  to  lie  to  their 
friends,  and  never  to  kill  their  friends, 
but  always  to  do  right,  and  then  they 
would  live  long,  even  so  that  they  would 
walk  with  two  sticks,  and  the  snows  would 
whiten  their  hair,  and  if  they  did  all  of 
this,  other  people  would  respect  them. 
Little  Ji-shil)  resolved  to  do  all  of  tliose 


.59 


H! 


■111 

i 


! 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

tilings,  and  so  live  to  be  very  old  and 
respected,  and  perhaps  then  lie  could  be- 
come a  great  Medicine-Man  and  a  War- 
Chief. 

Ji-shil)  could  not  begin  to  remember 
how  many  times  they  marched  around, 
and  sang  songs,  <ind  danced,  and  smoked, 
and  ate,  but  he  could  not  forget  how 
funny  the  Squaws  looked  when  they 
danced.  They  danced  as  though  their 
feet  were  tied  together,  and  jumped  uj) 
and  down  stiff  legged.  It  made  their 
bodies  shake,  and  the  beads  around  their 
necks  flopped  like  the  ears  of  a  running 
dog,  and  their  medicine  bags  dangled  and 
Hopped,  and  they  looked  very  funny, 
even  to  .Ti-slii().  But  the  Indians  ( and 
.Ti-shi6  was  glad  that  he  was  an  Indian 
and  not  a  Squaw  ),  they  filled  him  with 
pride.  They  stepped  so  lightly  on  the 
ground,  and  held  their  heads  so  high, 
and  pranced  along  the  way  fine  horses 
prance  to-day  ;  and  now  and  then  they 
said,  ''Hee,  ya,  ho-ho-ho,  ho-ho,  ho!" 
and  looked  this  way  and  that,  and  Ji- 
shib  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  them. 

GO 


I 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Soon  he  and  Ins  father  and  mother  got 
up  and  stood  by  his  post,  Avhich  liad  a 
band  of  red  paint  around  it,  and  the 
two  old  Medicine- Men  came  to  them,  and 
drummed  and  rattled  and  sang  songs. 
Then  he  had  to  sit  down  by  the  post 
with  his  face  to  the  rising  sun.  Soon 
four  old  Medicine-jMen  came  pranc- 
ing up  toward  him,  and  one  of  them  held 
a  medicine  bag,  a  beaver  skin,  in  both 
his  hands,  and  pointed  it  at  Ji-shib; 
and  as  he  came  up  closer,  the  Medicine- 
Man  said,  ^'Ya,  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho-ho!"  and 
thrust  the  beaver  skin  at  him.  Two 
other  Medicine-]Men  stood  behind  Ji- 
shil)  with  their  hands  on  his  shoulders, 
and  when  the  beaver-skin  bag  was  thrust 
at  him  he  felt  himself  tremble. 

Tlie  second  old  ]\£edicine-Man  came 
toward  him,  and  thi'ust  the  beaver  skin 
at  him,  and  he  trembled  again. 

And  the  third  ^Nledicine-^Man  did  the 
same,  and  he  trembled  still  more. 

Then  the  fourth  old  ]\[edicinc-]\[an 
took  the  beaver  skin,  and  approached 
him  saying,  ''Ya-ho,  ho,  ho,  hoo,  hoo!" 
and  making  the  beaver  skin  move  in  and 

61 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 


Hi 


r 


out  as  a  snake  runs.  Then  he  went 
backward,  and  came  up  and  tlirust  tlie 
skin  at  Ji-shib,  and  then  lie  went  back 
and  came  up  again,  and  all  of  the  time 
he  said,  ^'Ya,  ho,  ho,  ho!"  and  all  of 
the  time  he  made  the  beaver  skin  look 
like  a  snake  wriggling.  When  the 
Medicine-Man  came  toward  him  the 
fourth  time  the  beaver  skin  actually 
touched  Ji-shil),  and  he  trembled  a  very 
great  deal,  and  fell  forward  on  his  face. 
All  of  the  Medicine-Men  gathered 
around  him  and  said,  '^Ya,  ho,  ho, 
ho-ho,ho-ho-ho,hoo!"  many,  many  times. 
Little  Ji-shil')  thought  that  the  Sacred 
Spirits  must  have  come  into  him  when 
the  sacred  bag  touched  him,  for  he  felt 
so  strangely  happy  and  warm.  The  IVFe- 
dicine-Men  raised  him  up,  and  put  in  his 
hands  the  beaver  skin  with  sacred  shells 
and  sacred  medicine  in  it.  And  thus  it 
had  come  true,  what  the  beautiful  young 
Indian  who  came  into  the  wigwam  at 
night  had  told  him,  for  now  he  had 
sacred  medicine  in  a  beaver  skin.  Pie 
looked  at  the  beaver  skin,  and  found  that 
it  was  little  A-mi-kons,  who  had  been 
with  him  ever  since  he  was  a  babe. 

62 


•s 


I 


ii 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

That  night  as  he  lay  asleep,  the  young 
Indian  again  canie  to  him  in  his  wigwam, 
and  said:  ''In  the  beaver  skin  you  will 
find  medicine  for  everything  you  will 
need."  Then  he  motioned  Ji-shilj  to 
look.  And  as  he  looked  he  seemed  to 
see  a  pathway  leading  from  the  door  of 
the  wigwam  out  through  the  forest,  a 
path  at  first  straight,  then  turning  and 
winding,  becoming  very  crooked  and 
broken  and  lost  in  the  forest. 

Ji-shil')    understood    in    his    childish 
way  that  the  path  was    like    his    life 
would    be,    first,    sti'aight    and    easy, 
later,  crooked    and   difiicult   to   follow. 
But  the  Sacred  Spirits  were  with  him, 
and  his  medicine  bag  was  in  his  hand 
with  the  medicines  given  to  help  him 
out  of  all  difficulties.     The  vision  van- 
ished, and  he  awoke  and  found  himself 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  wigwam. 
The  fire  was  out  and  he  was  cold,  so  he 
lay  down  close  to  his  good  mother,  and 
wrapped  her  buffalo-skin  blanket  around 
him  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

63 


1 


CHAPTER  FOUR 
In  Which  Ji-shib  Uses  His  Medicines 


iyww«w<wiw»yi^i*'''.,'Tj.'r'rt.''.'r'«'!iBBwg!i 


<MM!liiW>K  Efjgat 


II 


I         N 


m 


IV 


^(^&: 


>*.^M 


,     W^'^i  LWAYS    lifter 

^;}     •••v.;.:;.^        _,^   Ihjit    .li-sliil) 


-\f' 


-\\i 


JS>' 


knew  that  the 
Sacred  Spirits 
Matched  over 
him  and  h('l[)ed  liiiu,  and 
lie  always  tried  to  do  what 
the  old  3redi('iiie-I\reu  toUl 
him. 


One  day  when  he  was  eight  years  okJ 
there  were  several  small  boys  playing  in 
the  lake.  None  of  them  was  yet  large 
enough  to  wear  (clothes  in  the  Summer, 
so  they  swam  and  dived  in  the  water,  like 
frogs,  half  of  the  time.  The  first  thing 
Ji-shil')  knew,  the  Bad  Spirit  of  the  lake 
caught  his  leg,  and  doubled  it  up  in  his 
giant  hand,  and  it  hurt.  The  Bad  Spirit 
pinched  his  leg,  and  pulled   him  down 

07 


m 


'iil:l 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

under  the  water,  and  then  let  liini  eome 
up  again,  but  lie  did  not  let  go  of  his 
leg.  Then  lie  pulled  him  down  again. 
When  Ji-shib  was  being  pulled  down  the 
second  time  he  thought  of  his  medicine 
bag  Mhich  lay  on  the  shore,  and  that  if 
he  could  only  get  his  hand  in  that  bag, 
he  would  give  the  Bad  Spirit  some  med- 
icine to  make  him  let  him  loose.  When 
he  came  uji  again,  he  made  a  great  des- 
perate kick  and  struggle,  and  got  away 
and  swam  to  the  shore,  but  his  leg  was 
lame  and  hurt  him.  lie  took  some  sa- 
cred tobacco  from  his  medicine  bag,  and 
threw  it  to  tlu;  Bad  Spirit  of  the  lake, 
and  after  that  he  never  caught  hold  of 
Ji-shib  again.  Of  coui'se,  sometimes 
when  he  was  going  to  swim  far  in  the 
hike,  he  threw  tobacco  into  the  w.ator  for 
the  Bad  Spirit  before  he  went  in. 

But  nearly  every  Summer  that  Bad 
Spirit  caught  some  little  Indian  boy,  and 
dragged  him  down  into  tlie  lake,  and 
sucked  out  all  (tf  his  blood,  and,  after 
days  and  daj'S,  laid  him  on  shore  at  night 
dead  and  bloodless. 


()S 


•f 


ChUdhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Once  the  Bad  Spirit  did  not  bring  a 
boy  back  at  all,  but  ate  him  al'  up  down 
in  the  deep  water. 


Late  in  the  next  Summer  Ji-shib  was 
out  in  the  forest,  and  an  unknown  bii-d 
called  nt  liim  from  a  tree,  and  then  liew 
away  and  called  from  another  tree. 
Ji-shil)  followed  it.  It  kept  calling,  and 
Hying  away,  and  calling  again.  Soon 
it  grew  dark  with  clouds,  the  Sun  went 
out,  and  it  rained,  and  the  great  Thun- 
der Birds  called  and  called  in  loud 
and  fearful  voices.  Ji-shib  saw  a  hollow 
tvGG,  and  he  crept  in  it,  and  sat  down 
on  the  dry  leaves.  Tlie  Thnnder  I5ii-ds 
screamed  and  called  all  throngh  the  for- 
est, so  Ji-shil)  took  his  sacred  tobacco 
from  Ills  medicine  bag.  and  threw  some 
of  it  out  of  the  hollow  tree  lor  the 
Thnnder  Birds,  and  by  and  by  they 
ceased  calling. 

It  seemed  as  though  it  never  would 
stop  raining,  so  he  crawled  out  of  the 
tree,  and  stinted   home.     lie  walked  a. 


i 

alii'  9 

■hV  ''iW 

iilMl 

•nr'l 

:  II  1 

I  ; 


I  i  i 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

long  way,  and  got  hnngry  and  tired, 
bnt  lie  could  not  find  the  village.  It 
began  to  get  niglit,  and  little  Ji-shil)  was 
almost  afraid, —  when  there,  right  by  his 
side,  was  the  hollow  tree  again.  He 
looked  in  and  saw  his  bow  and  arrows 
which  he  had  forgotten  when  he  started 
out  before,  so  he  crept  in,  wet  and  tii'ed, 
and  soon  fell  asleep. 

While  he  slept  he  dreamed  again  of 
the  beautiful  young  Indian,  who  came  to 
him  that  night  saying,  ''Look.'"  When 
he  look  d,  there  were  many  shadows 
moving  swiftly  ovei*  the  gi'ound,  and  he 
raised  his  eyes  and  saw  a  great  Hock  of 
ducks  flying  over  the  trees.  They  all 
flew  straight  over,  and  all  in  the  same 
direction,  and  the  Indian  told  him  that 
they  were  flying  to  the  fields  of  wild 
rice  which  grew  in  the  river  flowing  from 
the  lake. 

The  young  Indian  said  again,  ''Look." 
And  Ji-shib  looked,  and  saw  a  fat  rabbit 
sitting  under  a  bunch  of  clover,  eating 
the  leaves  all  wet  Avitli  rain. 

Again  the  Indian  said,  ''Look;  "  and 

as  he  locked     Jiere  were  ])erry  bushes, 

and  the  berries  were  ripe  and  good  to 

eat. 

70 


& 


mmmsitm 


i 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

When  lie  awoke  in  the  morning  lie  did 
not  at  first  know  where  he  was,  but  soon 
he  remenjbered,  and  felt  hungry  and 
cold.  lie  crawled  out  of  the  tree  in 
the  bi'ight  sunlight,  and  yawned  and 
stretched  his  arms.  Thei-e  were  dark 
shadows  moving  swiftly  over  the  gi'ound, 
and  he  heard  the  whistle  of  ducks' 
wings  in  the  air,  and  ducks  were  Hying 
right  above  the  tree  tops.  He  then  re- 
nuMubered  about  his  dream,  and  knew 
that  in  the  early  morning  the  ducks  went 
to  eat  wild  rice  in  the  river,  so  he  knew 
where  the  lake  and  the  village  were. 

lie  took  his  bow  and  ari-owsand  medi- 
cine bag,  and  followed  the  direction 
wliich  the  ducks  had  taken.  After  a 
little  time  he  came  to  an  opening  in  the 
forest,  and  saw  a  rabbit  sitting  there, 
just  as  the  Indian  had  showed  him.  He 
stood  very  still,  and  strung  his  bow,  and 
put  an  arrow  on  the  string,  and  pulled 
it  back, —  "tang!"  said  the  bow  string. 
The  frightened  rabbit  jumped  up  and 
ran,  and  then  it  stopped,  fell  over  back- 
ward, stretched   out   its   hind   legs,  and 

lay  still. 

71 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Ji-sliib  was  very  pi'oud,  for  never  be- 
fore luul  lie  shot  iiiiything  alive,  not  even 
a  little  bird.  He  took  the  rabbit  by  the 
hind  lo<>',  and  di'a<;'god  it  along  as  he  had 
seen  his  father  di'ag  home  a  wolf  the 
day  before.  Snch  a  heavy  load  made 
his  arm  aehe,  so  he  stopped  to  lest;  and 
there  he  saw  many  berry  bnshes  like 
those  the  yonng  Indian  had  showed  him 
in  his  dream.  He  ate  and  ate  the  ras})- 
berries  nnlil  he  heard  his  father  call  his 
name.  And  when  his  father  saw  him, 
he  ran  to  himantlhnggedhim;  bnt  when 
he  saw  the  rabbit  which  Ji-shib  had 
shot,  he  pnt  the  little  boy  down  ont  of 
his  arms,  and  said,  ''llnh!  a  big  hnnter! 
1  will  not  kiss  a  hunter  ;  come,  bi'ing 
your  i-abbit  to  the  wigwam;  Sciuaw  is 
very  hungry."'  So  Ki-niw  started  on  — 
all  of  the  time  laughing  to  himself — and 
,Ii-shil')  followed  him  into  the  village, 
dragging  his  first  game  at  his  side. 

That  evening  Ji-shilVs  father  and 
mother  nuide  a  feast,  called  a  boy's  feast, 
which  the  Ojibwa  Indians  always  make 
when  a  boy  kills  his  llrst  game.  They 
invited  the  i)eople  then  at  the  village, 


1 


w 


(.1 
1 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

and  tliey  all  had  some  of  the  rabbil  to 
eat.  The  okl  hunlers  made  speeelies, 
and  praised  Ji-shib  Cor  killing  a  rabbit 
when  he  was  so  young.  They  said  they 
knew  that  he  would  become  a  great  hun- 
ter when  he  grew  up;  and  sonu3  of  them 
told  of  their  own  hnnting  experiences. 

One  old  hunter, who  was  a  very  strong 
Indian,  once  shot  an  arrow  so  hard  that 
it  passed  through  one  buflalo  and  into 
the  heart  of  another  one,  and  they  both 
fell  dead  together. 

xVnother  old  hunter,  who  was  a  gi'eat 
joker,  said  that  that  was  nothing, —  he 
was  stronger  than  that, —  for  once  he 
shot  an  arrow  through  three  buffalo,  and 
then  the  arrow  stuck  so  far  in  a  tree  that 
he  could  not  pull  it  out. 

All  of  the  Indians  laughed  at  this 
story,  and  one  of  them  asked  tlie  old 
huntei'  what  kind  of  medicine  he  used 
when  he  shot  thi'ee  buffalo  at  once. 
They  all  laughed  still  more  when  he 
said;  ''  I  used  the  same  kind  of  medicine 
which  little  Ji-shil)  uses;  ask  him.'' 

.li-shib  was  obliged  to  tell  his  story 
then.     After  he  had    tohl  it  —  how  he 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

stopped  the  thunder,  how  lie  dreamed 
about  the  ducks  and  the  rabbit  and  tlie 
berries,  and  that  they  all  came  true, — 
every  one  knew  that  the  Sacred  Spirits 
were  with  him. 

When  the  old  men  went  out  of  the 
wigwam  they  patted  him  on  the  head, 
and  the  Squaws  used  to  tell  their  boys  to 
do  and  to  act  like  Ji-shib. 


If  Jl  Hipp 


1^ 

St' 


The  following  Winter  while  they  were 
gone  from  the  lake,  hunting  in  northern 
Wisconsin,  they  had  no  snow  for  a  long 
time.  The  ground  was  frozen  so  hard 
that  an  Indian  made  a  noise  walking 
even  Avith  soft  moccasins.  The  game 
was  quite  scarce  th:H  Winter,  and  got 
very  wild,  because  it  could  hear  the 
hunter  so  far  away.  Even  Ki-niw  often 
came  home  at  night  "ithout  any  game, 
and  soon  hunger  stole  into  the  Ibui-  wig- 
wams of  the  Indians  who  were  together. 
At  last  they  had  to  kill  three  of  their 
dogs  to  eat.  Then  it  snowed  very  hard. 
When  it  ceased  the  huntei's  went  out  and 
killed  two  moose  and  an  elk,  for  they 

74 


i 


ill 


I 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

could  not  run  in  tlie  deep  soft  snow, 
though  the  liiinters  could  run  rapidly 
over  the  snow  with  their  snowshoes. 
After  that  they  had  plenty  to  eat,  but 
the  sun  soon  came  out  very  warm  and 
melted  the  surface  of  the  snow,  bnt  al- 
most immediately  it  froze  over  so  that 
there  Avas  a  thick  crust  on  the  top,  which 
would  liold  up  a  moose  as  well  as  a  man. 
The  hunters  could  not  kill  any  more 
game,  and  soon  they  were  starving. 

Every  night  Ji-shilVs  faithful  lather 
fixed  his  hunting  medicines,  and  sang 
and  prated  to  the  Sacred  Spirits,  but 
during  the  day  he  could  not  kill  any- 
thing for  food.  One  night  he  did  not 
come  home  at  all,  and  every  one  in  the 
wigwams  M'ent  to  sleep  without  having 
eaten  anything  that  day  or  the  day  before. 

In  the  night  Ji-shib  awoke,  and  pre- 
pared his  hunting  medicine  as  he  had 
seen  his  father  do,  and  he  sang  and 
prayed  to  the  Sacred  Spirits,  that  he 
and  the  others  might  not  starve. 

Afterwards,  while  he  slept,  the  beauti- 
ful young  Indian  came  into  the  wigwam 
and  told  Ji-shilj:    "Tomorrow  you  shall 


/O 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

out  ;i  boai';'"  aiitl  .fi-sliib  looked,  and 
saw  a  path  leading'  into  tlio  forest.  Far 
out  from  the  wi^'^wani  it  turned  into  a 
small  marshy  p'ace,  and  stopped;  and 
then  the  young  Indian  slowly  faded 
away. 

Next  morning,  when  the  Squaw  left 
the  wigwam  to  enquire  after  liei'  hus- 
band, Ji-shib  took  a  Hint  tomahawk,  and 
his  own  bow,  and  suine  hunt- 
ing ai'rows  of  his  father,  and 
slipped  away  unobserved. 
After  a  while  he  saw  a 
path  in  the  forest,  and  this  he 
followed  to  a  small  marshy 
plaee,  but  he  did  not  see 
any  bear.  All  at  once  the  snow  broke 
through  under  him,  and  he  found  him- 
self in  a  hole  up  to  his  arms.  He  looked 
down  at  his  feet,  and  tliere  he  saw  the 
head  of  a  sleei)ing  beai-,  lying  close  to 
the  ground,  and  he  remembei'ed  that 
hunters  sometimes  killed  sleeping  bears 
in  their  holes  in  the  Winter,  where  they 
lie  buried  until  Spring.  He  struck  the 
bear  twice  between  the  eyes  with  his 
tomahawk,  and  when  he  saw  that  it  did 


76 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

not  stir  he  knew  that  he  had  killed  it,  so 
he  crawled  out  of  the  hole  and  ran  home 
breathlessly.  His  lather  was  Just  start- 
ing- out  to  find  him,  having  come  liome 
with  only  one  young  bea\er  to  eat. 

That  day,  after  the  liunters  dragged 
the  heavy  bear  to  the  wigwams,  another 
boy's  feast  was  given  forJi-shib,  because 
that  was  the  first  bear  he  had  killed. 

Tn  a  few  days  the  crust  melted  on  the 

snow,  and  then  there  was  plenty  of  game 

to  be  had,  but  the  people  never  forgot 

how  Ji-shil)  saved  them  froiu  stai'ving, 

and  he  never  forgot  the  beautiful  young 

Indian  who  always  came  to  him  in  his 

dreams,  and  he  often  wondei-ed  who  he 

was,  and   which    of  the   Sacred   Spirits 

sent  him. 

77 


i^ 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

In  Which  Ji-shib  Learns  How  To 
Prepare  For  War 


^ 


il 


■• 


I-SHIB  liiul  now  ])c- 
coiiic  ;i  tall  sUmuIot 
boy.  In  tlio  Sprin;jj 
after  lie  liad  killed 
the  sleei)in^'  bear  lie 
lielped  pack  np  the 
eanoe,  and  all  of  the 
.  Indians   left    their 

1  Winter  huntings  gronnds  with  larger 
''"  eanoe  loads  of  skins  and  peniniiean 
than  they  usnally  had,  for  they  were 
preparing  a  war  party  to  go  against  their 
fierce  enemy,  tlie  Sionx,  in  tlu;  eai'ly 
Autumn.  At  sucli  times  the  Indians  de- 
sired to  leave  in  the  village  food,  and  skins 
for  clothing,  to  supply  the  S(juaws  and 
children  and  old  men  who  remained  be- 
hind ;  there  must  also  be  a  large  supply 
of  moccasins  and  bows  and  arrows  and 
tomahawks  for  the  warriors  themselves. 

HI 


»m»vm<fm ■■i«niiii ^,i| 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

By  the  time  they  reached  their  Smn- 
mer  village  at  the  hike,  after  liaving 
stopped  and  made  maple  sugar,  their 
canoes  vvere  jailed  high  with  provisions. 


'fil 


f- 


Early  one  morning  as  they  paddled 
down  Cliii)peway  river  they  suddenly 
came  upon  a  large  deer  swimming  across 
the  stream.  On  one  side  the  ri\'er  bank 
was  steep  and  slippery,  and  the  deer 
was  obliged  to  couie  to  the  sliore  at  a 
l^articular  place.  Ji-shil)  and  his  father 
and  mother,  were  far  ahead  with  their 
canoe,  and  prepared  to  shoot  the  ani- 
mal. 

The  Mlier  selected  for  Ji-sh)(>  an  ar- 
row with  a  straight  and  slendfir  shall  and 
a  sliarp  tlint  point.  Ji  sliil)  knew  very 
Avell  where  to  shoot  in  order  to  kill  the 
deer,  for  many  times  he  had  been  sliowu 
where  a  deer-s  heart  lies,  and  he  knew 
that  when  an  animars  heart  is  pierced 
it  soon  loses  its  courage  and  dies.  Then 
the  father  selected  an  arrow  for  himself, 
and  waited  lor  the  boy  to  shoot.  The 
deer   swam   swiftly  with  only  its   head 

82 


1 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

and  large  horns  above  the  water,  and  Ji- 
sliib,  watcliing  it,  trembled  with  excite- 
ment. As  soon  as  the  deer  came  into 
the  shallows,  so  that  it  could  touch  bot- 
tom, it  began  to  bound  for^'ard, — half 
swimming  and  half  running.  Soon  its 
body  was  entirely  aboA'e  the  surface  of 
the  water,  and  the  arrow  shot  awav  from 
Ji-shib" s  bow  string  and  struck  its 
victim.  The  deer  bounded  into  the  air, 
and  then  ran  splashing  aud  plunging 
tlirougli  the  water  and  up  the  river  bank 
into  toe  forest. 

Wnen  the  Either  saw  where  the  arrow 
striick  he  did  uot  shoot.  He  knew 
tliat  a  deer  will  ruu  as  long  as  it  has 
Ireatli  in  its  body,  but  it  is  bound  to  stop 
soon  when  it  has  an  arrow  through  its 
hei;rt. 

A.;  the  d«-er  passed  up  the  river  bank, 
and  over  the  low  ridge  out  of  sight,  it 
waved  its  tail  like  a  handkerchief,  as 
much  as  to  say,  '"'Good-bye,  Iiidians,  I'm 
in  quite  a  hurry,  good-bye!'' 

They  quickly  turned  the  canoe  to  the 
shore,  and  tiiere  03i  the  sands  were  blood- 
stains.    The  father  pretended  to  be  busy 

83 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

with  the  canoe  until  Ji-shil)  ran  up  the 
bank  following  the  tracks;  and  then  from 
over  the  ridge  came  the  boy's  cry  of  vic- 
tory, for  there  was  liis  first  deer  dead  at 
his  feet. 

When  the  other  Indians  came  down 
llie  river  in  their  canoes,  the  boy's  feast 
was  again  celebrated  in  honor  of  Ji-shilVs 
first  deer. 


Th'j  village  was  very  busy  that  Spring 
and  Summer  getting  ready  for  war.  The 
Squaws  planted  tlieir  maize  and  beans 
and  squashes.  After  planting  their 
gardens  they  frequently  tanned  skins  all 
day  long,  and  sewed  moccasins  in  the 
evening  by  the  light  of  the  wigwam  tire. 
The  young  Indians  hunted  and  fished  a 
great  deal.  Many  of  the  old  Indians 
and  Scjuaws  were  absent  fi-om  the  village 
making  arrow  heads,  Avhile  the  other 
Indians  built  new  canoes,  and  made 
bows  and  arrows. 

In  the  month  of  .Juno,  which  Ji-shil) 
called  tiie  month  of  strawberi'ies,  he  went 
with  his  father  to  get  birch  l)ark  to  make 
a  canoe.     They  went  some  distance  up 

84 


^•1 


Childhood  of  Jt-shib' 

Cliippewaj'  river,  and  there  found  u  large 
tree,  straight  and  smooth,  Avithont  alimb 
anywliere  near  the  ground.  They  cut  a 
circle  around  the  tree  near  the  roots,  and 
another  one  lar  up  the  trunk,  and  then 
they  cut  a  straight  line  down  the  side  of 
the  tree  from  one  circular  cu^  i;o  the  other. 
Just  like  a  boy  in  the  cotmtry  who  is 
almost  undressed  by  the  time  he  gets 
to  the  swimming-hole,  so  the  old  tree 
had  nearly  half  disrobed  by  the  time 
Ivi-niw  finished  cutting  through  the 
bark.  The  bark  sprung  away  from 
the  tree  trunk,  on  both  sides  of  the  long 
st  raight  cut,  as  though  it  had  done  it  every 
Summer  foi-  fifty  years.  Then  Ki-niw 
loosened  the  entire  bark  by  pushing  his 
hands  between  it  and  the  trunk,  and  there 
was  a  gentle  swishing  sound  as  the  large 
section  fell  on  the  ground  at  his  feet. 

When  they  had  taken  it  home  Ji-shilVs 
mother  sewed  it  together  so  that  it  would 
be  large  enough  to  cover  the  canoe  frame. 
8he  knew  exactly  how  to  sew  it,  first  hold- 
ing it  near  the  fire  until  it  got  soft  and 
would  bend  like  leather,  and  aftei-wards 
punching  holes  in  it  with  a  bone  bodkin. 

85 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

She  filially  fastened  the  pieces  together 
with  large  strong  thread  made  of  the 
slender  roots  of  the  spruce  tree. 

While  she  wusdoin-;  ihis,Ji-shib  helped 
his  father  prepare  the  frame  of  the  canoe. 
This  IVame,  made  like  the  skeleton  of  a 
great  lish  laid  on  its  back,  they  placed  on 
topof  the  bark  on  the  ground;  then  they 
gathered  the  l)ark  u[)  on  both  sides  of 
the  cedar  ribs,  and  all  three  of  them 
lielped  tie  it  along  the  toi>  of  the  frame. 
Next  a  strip  of  cedar,  which  we  call  a 
gunwale,  was  bound  along  the  upper  edge 
of  the  canoe,  and  four  crosspieces  fas- 
tened in,  in  order  to  protect  the  bark  and 
ffive  Ibrm  to  the  canoe.  It  was 
turned  bottom  up,  and  Ji-shil)  and  his 
mother  melt(Hl  pine  pitch  and  smeared  it 
over  all  of  the  seams  so  that  they  would 
not  leak,  poking  the  pitch  in  with  a  nam- 
ing stick.  The  canoe  was  then  completed. 
They  carried  it  to  the  lake,  and  it  floated 
like  a  bubble. 

8(j 


?:'.- 


'm 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Ji-shib  and  the  other  Indian  children 
knew  that  about  two  days'  journey  from 
the  village,  away  up  on  the  east  fork  of 
Chippe\vay  river,  tluM-e  was  a  (|iiarry  and 
workshop  where  the  tribe  got  its  rock  to 
make  arrow  heads  and  war  clubs.  But 
he  had  never  seen  the  place,  nor  had  it 
vei'y  often  been  seen  except  by  the  old 
Indians  and  Sipiaws  who  worked  there. 

One  al'ternoon  late  in  the  Summer  a 
canoe  came  ai-ound  the  bend  in  the  lake 
shore,  and  those  who  saw  it  knew  tliat  it 
belonged  to  old  ^la-kwa,  Ji-shilVs  grand- 
father, lie  liad  been  at  the  workshop 
all  the  long  Sumniei-,  and  had  brought 
back  a  gi'eat  many  arrow  heads  care- 
fully wrapi)ed  up  in  little  bags  of  buck- 
skin. These  they  carried  from  the  (!anoe 
to  the  wigwam,  and  before  the  sun  set  that 
evening e\eiy  wigwam  in  the  village,  and 
every  wigwam  in  the  \illag(^  at  the  west 
nid  of  tilt'  lake,  had  recei\'e(l  its  share  of 
each  sort  of  ariow  heads. 

liefore  this  Ji-shib  had  h('lp<Ml  his  father 
in  making  arrow  shafts.  Of  course  he 
did  not  do  much  in  so  delicate  an  under- 
taking as  the  making  of  war-arrow  shafts. 

87 


"^ 


Ji-shib 

liuliiin  childriMi 
lys'  Journey  from 
tlie  oast  I'ork  of 
was  a  (|uarry  and 
ibc  got  its  rock  to 
war  clnl)s.     l>ut 
l>lac{',  nor  had  it 
'X('i'i)t  ))y  tlie  old 
>  worked  there, 
n   tlie  Summer  a 
bend  in  the  lake 
aw  it  knew  tliat  it 
a,  Ji-shilVsgrand- 
at  llie    workshop 
and  had  l)i'ou.i;iit 
rrow  heads   eare- 
ttle  baii's  ol"  buck- 
led from  tlu^  canoe 
"ore  the  sun  set  tliat 
in  the  viUajic,  and 
village  at  the  west 
jceived  its  shai'e  of 
ds. 

ulheli)ed  his  father 
Its.  Of  course  he 
delicate  an  undei'- 
f  war-arrow  shafts. 


s-         .■'AC.-         -..Or..-     "..-.'*■.    a". 


",>   .-■i^'^^fe-  ,"■  ■■"''''^;") 


>'''""''."  ,",.'•'  ■:«st*.r'*'" 


;.  1 1  *  "if 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib 


m 


and  after  lie  had  done  all  he  could,  Ki-niw 
worked  over  them  until  they  were  smooth 
and  diy  and  straight.  He  cut  a  notch  in 
one  end  of  the  shaft  to  fit  the  bowstring', 
and  in  the  othei-  end  he  cut  a  nuicli  deeper 
notch  in  which  to  fasten  the  arrow  head. 
He  also  tied  and  cemented  feathers  on 
the  back  end  of  each  shall  so  as  to  guide 
it  straight, —  as  a  blackbird  uses  its  tail. 

In  the  evening, after  Mu-kwa  had  come, 
they  were  all  sitting  outside  the  wigwam, 
and  Ki-niw  handed  Ji-shib  an  arrow 
shaft  and  an  arrow  head,  and  mo- 
tioned him  to  fasten  them  together. 
Ji-shib  went  to  his  place  in  the  wigwam, 
and,  getting  a  ball  of  deer  sinew,  soaked 
it  in  hot  water.  Next  he  put  the  ariow 
head  in  the  deep  notch  of  the  shaft 
and  bound  it  in  firmly  with  wet  sinew. 
His  father  looked  at  the  finished  airow, 
and  said,  '' \''es,  my  son,  that  is  well 
done,  but  we  are  not  going  to  hunt  deer 
with  these  arrows,  we  are  to  hunt  the 
Sioux." 

After  that  they  all  sat  around  the 
bright  little  fire  and  fastened  on  the  ar- 
row heads,  Ji-shilj  helping  his  father. 

88 


1 


ri 


-J 


■■'? 


■■: 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

They  did  not  fasten  tlieiii  on  firnilj',  as 
Ji-shil)  had  done  witli  the  one  he  made — 
which  was  really  a  liunting  arrow  —  bnt 
they  fastened  them  on  so  lightly  that  if 
one  entered  the  tlesh  of  a  Sionx,  that 
dreaded  enemy  could  not  pull  the  arrow 
out  without  leaving  the  cruel  barbed  Hint 
head  in  the  wound,  to  cut  and  dig  and 
make  it  bleed. 

In  three  days  old  Mii-kwa  took  his 
Hquaw  and  returned  to  the  workshop. 
After  he  liad  gone  they  found  that  he 
had  left  at  the  wigwam  his  deer-hoi'n 
cliipping  tools,  so  Ji-shib  went  Avilh  his 
father  to  take  them. 

At  the  woi'kshop,  where  they  made  the 
arrow  heads,  thei-e  were  many  old  In- 
dians whom  Ji-shib  had  never  seen  be- 
fore, as  they  were  from  other  villages. 
The  gioiind  was  >itre\vn  with  chips  and 
splinters  of  Hint  and  (|uartz  rocks.  IfiM 
grandfather  and  old  \<*s  se-win  had  a 
small  pile  of  i-hi^Ks  just  outside  of  their 
M'igwam.  where  they  worked  togt4hei-, 
while  inside  the  wigwam  w;U5  a  pile 
of  thin  slabs  of  rock  .il)out  as  large  a> 
ail  Indian's  hand. 


i 


m 


i 


Childhood  of  Jt-shib' 

Old  Nes-se-win  hiid  one  of  those  large 
flint  slabs  on  a  piece  of  buckskin  which 
was  spread  on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and 
held  it  down  firndy  with  the  tips  of  his 
fingers,  while  Mii-kwa  placed  the  point 
of  his  cliipping  tool  against  the  Hint, 
and  struck  it  a  quick  rebounding  blow 
with  a  wooden  mallet.  Every  time  he 
struck  it,  a  chip  flew  off.  Nes-se-win 
kept  turning  the  Hint  in  his  hand  over 
and  around,  and  Ma-kwa  kept  chipping 
it  away,  until  finally  it  was  an  arrow 
head  or  spear  point. 

It  was  almost  as  though  Mi'i-kwa  struck 
with  his  mallet  in  order  to  beat  time  to 
his  singing,  for  he  sang  nearly  all  of  the 
while  in  a  low  pleasant  voice,  and  his 
songs  kept  perfect  time  with  the  strokes 
of  his  mallet.  Sometimes  he  sang  to 
Nes-se-v,'in  over  and  over  again  this  sim- 
ple song: 

"Nt'S-se-whi  holds  the  flint, 
While  Mil-kwii  chijis  it  out. 

Nes-se-win  holds  the  lliut, 
While  Ma-kwa  chips  it  out." 

And  then  again  he  sang  to  the  arrow 
head.     As  he   was  chipping  the  point 

90 


I 
i 


I 


I 


I 


■*> 


■ 


I 


1 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

sharp  and  slonder,  he  saiij;'  to  it  this 
Avoikei's  soii<^,  wliicli  iiiiule  .li-slul)"s 
bh)()d  boil,  and  before  lie  knew  it  he  was 
sinj^ing  it  with  his  grandfather: 

"I  ^ivc  you  the  wiir-l)ir'rs  eye 
To  see  tlie  enemy's  licjirt; 

I  give  you  the  war-bird's  eye 
To  see  the  enemy's  heart." 

When  he  came  to  chip  the  two  sharp 
barbs  at  the  base  of  the  arrow  head,  lie 
changed  the  song,  and  sang: 

"I  give  you  the  war-binl's  claws 
To  tear  the  enemy's  heart; 

T  give  you  the  war-bird's  claws 
To  tear  the  enemy's  iieart." 

Everywhere  about  them  in  this  work- 
shop the  old  Indians  weie  busily  at 
work.  While  looking  ariMind  him  at  the 
singing  groi'ps  of  workers,  Ji-shib  siiw  a 
Squaw  come  up  from  her  canoe  at  the 
river  bank  with  a  heavy  pack  on  her 
back.  When  she  opened  the  moose-skin 
pack  it  proved  to  be  full  of  slabs  of  flint 
like  those  in  the  gi-and father's  wigwam, 
and  fi'om  which  they  chip[)ed  out  the 
arrow  heads  and  speai'  points. 

id 


'•ti 


I'! 


'!;: 


I 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

The  next  day  Ji-sliih  wont  with  bis 
father  and  jii-andiiiotlu'r  a  short  distance 
I'aitiier  ui>  the  east  fork  of  (.'hii)poway 
river  to  tlie  quariy  site.  Tliere  in  the 
river  bank  were  several  i)oekots  of 
(inart/  and  Hint  rocks  niassed  together 
like  s([nasli('s  in  a  great  basket.  Home 
of  the  old  Indians  pried  the  rocks  out 
of  the  ground,  others  broke  them  up 
with  large  stone  hammers,  while  still 
others  chipi)ed  these  broken  pieces  of 
rocks  into  crude  slabs  the  size  of  one's 
liand,  and  these  the  S<juaws  carried 
away  to  the  workshop  for  the  chippers 
to  make  into  arrow  heads  and  other 
weapons. 


When  Ji-shil)  and  his  father  got  back 
to  the  village  from  the  (piarry,  the  Sciuaw 
had  gone  with  several  oIIkm's  down  into 
LittleManomin  river  to  begin  the  Autumn 
hai'vest  of  wihl  rice,  which  is  the  com- 
mon grain  food  of  the  Ojibwa.  After 
remaining  at  the  village  a  day  to  dis- 
tribute the  arrow  heads  which  they 
brought  in  from  the  workshop,  they  took 
a  great  number   of   duck    arrows,  and 

92 


"Sonic  of  the  ()!('  1  ii(lian>  pried  the  rocivs  out  of  thf 'ground," 

From  Tlw  lolli  Aiiiuuil  Jicpurl  a/  the  Buremi  uf  KUiwI'Kju, 
(Wasliingtou,  1).  C.) 


<:^. 


^0^'\^'^.A 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


LI 


1.25 


IIM    1121 


lilu 
m 


2.2 
2.0 


U    III  1.6 


^ 


<^ 


/} 


/. 


>/     m 
^ 


-^ 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14S80 

(716)  872-4503 


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V. 


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«U_ 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

puddled  out  through  the  lake  into  the 
river,  to  shoot  duck  and  other  water  fowl 
in  the  wild  rice  fields,  while  the  Squaws 
were  gathering  the  grain. 

That  evening  the  sacred  dog  feast  was 
held.  They  killed  and  cooked  a  white 
dog,  but  before  they  ate  any  of  it  they 
asked  the  Spirits  to  keej)  olf  all  storms 
until  the  grain  was  gathered.  Before 
each  mouthful  Ji-shil)  and  his  father, 
and  eveiy  one  who  ate,  threw  a  part  of 
his  food  into  the  fire,  so  that  its  Spirit 
might  Jiscend  to  the  Spirits  above  as  a 
feast, —  for  Spirits  like  to  eat  as  well  Jis 
Indians  do.  Why  not '!  Every  one  eats 
when  he  is  hungry,  if  he  can  find  food; 
and  eating  makes  him  better-natured. 

Next  morning  the  harvest  began. 
Ji-shib's  mother  and  another  Squaw 
gathered  their  canoe  full  of  wild  rice 
from  the  tall  waving  stalks  which  grew 
higher  than  their  heads  in  the  water  of 
the  river. 

When  they  came  to  the  shore  with  the 
canoe  full  of  grain,  Ji-shib  helped  take 
the  rice  oul  and  spread  it  to  dry  on  a 
rack  over  a  slow  fiie.     It  was  his  duty 


H 


I 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

tliat  first  day  to  keep  tlie  lin^  l)iirnin«;. 
But  ho  was  careCiil  not  to  have  it  burn 
too  l»iji:h,  or  it  wouhl  have  l)uine(l  up  the 
rack  and  j;iaiii.  When  the  j;rain  was 
dry  enouf^ii,  it  was  carried  to  the  thresh- 
in^-liole, and,  alter  si)readiii<;  a  deerskin 
inthehok',  they  fiUed  it  with  j;rain.  Then 
hislather  stepped  into  the  llireshinj:;-hok', 
witli  new  luoeeasins  on  liis  feet,  and 
there  he  danced  and  stamped  around 
until  lie  liad  threshed  the  hulls  all  oil" 
the  kernels. 

Ji-shib's  mother  emptied  the  jjjrain 
and  hulls  from  the  deeiskin  into  a  larj^e 
birch-bark  tray.  This  she  held  in  front 
of  lier,  all  of  tlie  time  shakinj;'  it  in  .t, 
peciiliar  mainiei',  when  soon  the  liulls 
were  shaken  to  the  top  of  the  keiiiels 
and  out  over  the  cd'^e,  of  the  tray  on 
the  {ground.  All  that  was  left  in  the 
bottom  of  the  tiay  wlien  she  llnished 
shakinj,^  it  was  clean  grain,  ready  to  cook 
and  eat. 

They  riMuained  thiee  weeks  gatlierin*; 
wild  rice,  and  the  seveial  wigwanjs  each 
had  many  skin  bags  full  of  delicious 
grain. 


ChUdhoodofJi-shib' 

P>ut  this  is  not  all  theydid.  Everynight 
thoy  (lanced  or  feasted  or  told  stories, 
and  nearly  every  nijjlit  they  did  all  three 
thinjjfs.  Dnrinj;-  the  (hiy  the  Indians 
shot  wild  \'o\\\  in  the  rice  fields,  becanse 
all  they  did  in  the  liarvest  was  Jnst  the 
Ihreshiii};  of  the  <,n-ain.  The  children 
carried  rice  and  kept  the  fires,  and  some 
of  the  larger  boys  at  times  went  hnnting 
with  (he  Indians.  Bnt  the  Sqnaws 
worked  all  the  time. 

.li-shil)  played  war  party  a  great  deal. 
Since  he  Inid  seen  the  old  In<lians  mak- 
ing war  arrows  and  heard  their  songs,  he 
had  twice  dreamed  of  going  to  war  with 
his  father.  And  since  he  heard  one 
night  at  the  rice  fields  that  when  he  wsis 
a  babe  the  Sionx  had  killed  fonrteen 
men  from  his  own  village,  lie  wished 
very  mnch  that  he  was  old  enongh  to  go 
to  war  and  avenge  the  death  of  his 
trilnssmen.  lie  knew,  however,  tnat 
lie  was  not  old  enongh.  It  would  be 
fully  ten  years  more  before  he  wonld  be 
a  warrior,  with  a  chance  to  fight  and  die 
like  a  brave  OJibwa. 

97 


U    i 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Within  a  week  after  they  returned  to 
the  vilhige  from  the  harvest,  the  old  In- 
dians and  Sqnaws  had  all  come  from  tlie 
(luari'y  and  workshoi);  and  the  warriors 
in  both  villaj^es  at  the  lake  had  nearly 
one  hundred  arrows  eaeh.  Their  toma- 
hawks and  war  clubs  and  shields  were  all 
made,  and  each  warrior  had  ten  or  twelve 
|)aiis  of  strong  new  moccasins  to  wear 
while  making  the  long  Journey  westwjird 
to  the  Mississipi)i  river,  the  Sioux 
country. 

The  OJibwa  Indians  from  the  small  vil- 
lages on  the  (yhipi)eway  and  Wisconsin 
rivers,  and  from  JJad  river  at  Lake  Su- 
perior, had  come  to  the  village  to  Join 
the  war  party.  When  e.ach  Chief  re- 
portt  the  number  of  warriors  wliom  he 
had,  it  showed  that  there  were  in  all 
about  eight  hundred. 

Everything  wjus  ready,  the  evening  of 
the  hist  day  had  come,  and  they  Joined 
in  a  great  wihl  war  dance.  The  yells  and 
songs  and  spe(H'-hes  of  tlui  Chiefs  and  war- 
riors stirred  and  aroused  the  courage  of 
every  one.  VawIi  Indian  there,  who  was 
not  too  old  or  too  young  to  go  to  war,  was 
made  to  feel  brave  and  courageous,  and 

9S 


J,_. 


ChUdhoodofJi-shib' 

resolved  to  Join  the  war  party  when  it 
started  next  day. 

.Llthouj^li  Ji-shil)  was  much  too  young 
to  go  to  war,  or  even  to  go  so  far  from 
home,  yet  he  felt  the  surging  hatred  of  a 
brave  warrior  wIumi  he  heard  how  many 
times  his  people  had  been  killed  by  those 
deadly  suiikes,  the  Sioux.  But  he  had 
great  respect  for  their  cunning  and  brav- 
ery, for  that  very  evening  liad  he  not 
heard  how  a  large  band  of  his  people  once 
attacked  a  small  Sioux  village  wliose  few 
warriors  fought  until  they  died,  although 
they  knew  that  they  could  not  defeat  so 
large  a  party  ? 

It  was  nearly  midnight  before  they  went 
to  sleep,  and  each  wigvv^am  was  packed 
full  of  warriors. 

While  Ji-shib  slept, he  thought  that  the 
beautiful  young  Indian  who  came  to  him 
so  often  in  liis  dreams,  came  and  softly 
pushed  aside  tlie  deerskin  at  the  door  and 
peeped  in.  Then  the  young  Indian  bec- 
koned to  him  to  come.  He  awoke  out- 
side the  door,  and  by  the  dim  gray  light 
of  early  morning  saw  several  persons 
darting  about  in  the  dense  fog  from  the 

lake. 

99 


IH 


I 


I  t 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Suddenly  (lio  dojjs  at  the  fartlior  end  of 
tho  villajj;o  began  to  hark,  and  instantly 
every  cnr  within  heaiing  look  up  the  ery. 

,li-.shil)"s  ••randfather  came  hurriedly 
out  of  the  M  igwani  and  his  (juick  eyes 
saw  enongh  at  a  single  glance.  Before 
.li-shil)  could  speak  or  even  think,  his 
grandfather  yelled,  "The  Sioux!  the 
Sioux  are  here !  the  Sioux !  "  As  an  an- 
swer came  the  Sioux  war  cry  from  every 
part  of  the  village.  Ji-shil)  had  once 
been  greatly  frightened  when  the  Thun- 
der Birds  called  and  yelled  during  a  fear- 
fnl  tempest;  he  had  once  i-un  from  his 
father  all  the  way  to  the  village  when  he 
heard  a  wonnded  mother-bear  roar  and 
howl.  But  when  he  heard  that  war  cry 
his  blood  turned  to  ice,  his  legs  gave  way 
under  him,  and  he  sank  trembling  and 
helpless  on  the  ground.  It  was  as  though 
every  tree,  yes,  every  leaf  and  every  grain 
of  sand,  had  an  Evil  S])irit  in  it  which  had 
been  wonnded  and  yelled  for  vengejince. 

The  startled  Ojibwa  Indians  poured  out 
of  their  wigwams,  each  one  a  warrior 
stripped  and  armed  for  battle.  Imme- 
diately came  their  answering  w^ar  cry — a 

100 


¥\ 


Cliildhood  of  Ji-shib' 


cry  wliicli  Ji-shih  luid  often  used  in  play- 
ing war;  but  not  until  then  did  he  know 
what  that  cry  really  meant  or  how  awlul 
it  Wiis.     He  could  not  speak  or  move. 

INIany  of  the  Squaws  and  children  ran 
to  tlie  lak(^  shore  to  escape  in  the  canoes, 
but  the  Sioux  had  i)ushed  all  the  canoi'S 
far  out  in  the  lake.  Tliey  had  hoped 
to  drive  the  Ojibwa  people  to  the  lake 
shore  and  kill  them  there.  But  the 
barking  of  the  dogs  disclosed  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Sioux  before  they  had  discov- 
ered that  the  village  was  full  of  warriors, 
for  they  certainly  had  not  intended  to 
attack  a  village  with  four  times  as  many 
warriors  in  it  as  they  themselves  had. 

Ji-shib  wjis  dragged  inside  the  wig- 
wam, where  thei'e  were  several  S(iuaws 
and  children  huddled  together  awaiting 
what  might  happen.  Three  times  ar- 
rows were  shot  into  the  wigwam  (rom 
the  outside.  One  of  tliem  struck  the 
grandmother  in  the  arm,  but  when  she 
saw  that  it  was  an  Ojibwa  arrow  she 
laughed  and  pulled  it  out  and  dressed 

her  wound. 

101 


ft 


II 


H 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib 

Once  SI  .V<)un{^  Sciuiiw  crji\\  led  into  the 
wif^wani  and  laiuted  near  llio  lire.  Ilcr 
clollu's  were  nearly  all  torn  IVoni  her, 
and  there  was  an  uj^ly  bleedinj;  wound 
in  her  naked  baek.  ]Icr  poor  little  babe 
wjus  crushed  and  dead  in  her  arnjs. 

Suddenly  a  liendish  Sioux  yelled  his 
war  cry  in  their  very  ears;  a  Sioux 
knife  rii)i)ed  a  long  slit  in  the  wij^wani 
cover  o[)i)osite  where  ili-shib  was  euiled 
up  by  his  mother.  Almost  instantly 
there  followed  a  feaii'ul  moan  outside, 
and  sonu»thin<^  lieavy  fell  ay;ainst  the 
wigwam  and  afterwards  to  the  eaith. 
All  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  then 
the  awful  dread  was  broken  by  the 
OJibwa  cry  of  victory,  and  it  wjus  the 
voice  of  the  good  old  grandfather,  lie 
peeped  in  at  the  opening  which  the 
Sioux  had  made,  and  immediately  darted 
away,  carrying  a  fresh  Sioux  scalp  in  his 
hand. 

At  first  there  were  yells  and  sounds  of 
battle  all  around  the  village,  l)ut  soon 
they  became  scarcer  and  fainter  until 
the  war  cries  came  only  from  the  deep 
forest.  By  and  by  they  died  away  en- 
tirely. 

102 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Alxml    noon   Ji-sliiU's    lUtlicr    looked 
anxiously  in  at  tho  wij^wam,  aiul,  laying 
a    bundle    of  buckskin    at     Wnt    j^rand- 
inol hoi' s side,  liastoned  iiway  again.    She 
looked  at  it,  and  groaned.     Then  she  un- 
rolled the  bundle,  for  it  was  the  bieeeh- 
cloth,  leggings  and   nioeeasins  of  brave 
old    Ma-kwa,  the   giandfather.     As  she 
eanu;    to    the     'oniahawk    and    bloody 
knife  wrapped  up  in  tlui  garments,  she 
put  her  arms  around  .li-shib  and  hugged 
and  hugged   him.      Without   saying  a 
word  to  any  one  slie  took  the  weapons  of 
her  dead  liusband  and  went  out  into  the 
forest;    wlien  she  returned  at  midnight 
she  carried  a  Sioux  scaU)  in  her  hand, 
but  no  one  knew  wlieie  she  got  it. 

Gradiially  the  warriors  came  back  to 
the  village,  but  it  was  nearly  a  week  be- 
fore the  last  returned.  Among  tiiese  was 
Ji-shilVs  father,  and  he  said  that  scarcely 
a  Sioux  who  attacked  the  village  would 
be  able  to  reach  his  own  wigwam  to  tell 
the  sad  tale  of  tlieir  ill-fated  war  party. 

The  grandmother  made  a  bundle  of 
her  husband's  ckfhing  and  carried  it 
about  with  her  for  a  year.     It  seemed  as 

103 


I 


1^ 


ChUdhoodofJi-shib' 

tlioii^Mi  nearly  lialf  of  the  S«)iia\vs  in  llie 
villaj^o  canicd  such  a  buiidh'  on  Iheir 
backs  to  show  that  tlicy  mouincd  th'» 
death  of  a  son  or  brother  or  Imsband. 
After  all  of  the  wai'riors  had  returned; 
that  is,  all  who  ever  did  return,  the 
great  scalp  dance  wjis  hehl.  They 
tlannted  their  enenii<'s'  scalps,  and 
danced  and  yt^lled  until  every  one  was 
tired  out.  The  warriors  told  of  their 
experiences  in  the  battle,  and  some  one 
was  always  ready  to  tell  how  brave  each 
dead  warrior  wiu*  whose  bundle  of  gai-- 
nients  some  sick-liearted  Scpiaw  was  at 
that  moment  carrying  on  her  back. 

But  the  thing  which  Ji-shi^  remem- 
bered best,  and  which  he  never  could 
forget,  wjis  tlie  closing  speech  of  a  great 
War  Chief,  who  spoke  as  follows: 

"  Hear  uiy  voice,  ye  heroes!  On  that  day 
when  our  warriors  sprang  with  shouts  on  the 
da^turdly  Sioux,  wlien  they  killed  ourScjuaws 
and  our  babes,  my  heart  burned  to  take  ven- 
geance. And  here  on  my  breast  have  I  l)led. 
See,  see  my  battle  wounds!  Ye  mountains, 
tremble  at  my  yell!  My  foes  shall  die.  They 
shall  tly  over  the  plains  like  a  fox.  They 
shall  shake  like  a  leaf  in  the  storm.  Their 
lost  bones  shall  be  picked  by  the  vultures. 

104 


ii 


ill 


Childhood  of  Ji-»hib' 

Five  Wmtors  in  liunfmu  we  will  spend  wliilc 
mourniuK  our  <it'inl.  Our  youth  will  then 
hiivf  grow  n  to  matihoood  for  tlu'  ImttU-  path 
trained,  and  our  (Imvh  we  will  end  like  these 
warriors.  Yo  are  dead,  nolih;  warriors!  Ye 
jire  Koue,  ti.y  orother,  tny  lelh.w,  my  friend! 
Hut  wo  live  to  avenge  you.  \Ve  haHteli  to  dio 
iiH  you  died." 

Ji-shih  knew  that  even  when  live 
yeai's  were  ended,  still  lie  would  not  be 
old  enough  1<>  ^'<>  to  war.  Hut  scarcely  a 
week  passed  that  lie  did  not  wish 
time  would  lly  faster,  so  that  he  could 
avenj^ci  the  death  of  his  j,'ood  old  grand- 
father, who  saved  their  lives  from  the 
Sioux  Indian  at  the  wigwam. 

105 


r  !i 


i ' . 


i\ 


H: 


CHAPTER  SIX 

In  Which  Ji-shib  Outgrows  His 
Childhood 


!l  f 


n     !' 


.^ 


VI 


ITHIN  three  years 
after   the  great 
battle  at  the  Ojib- 
wa  vD^ige,  scarce- 
ly a    visible  sign 
remained    to    tell 
the  sad  story.  The 
Sqnaws  no  longer 
•   carried    on    their 
backs  the  clothing 
of    their   dead.      In    fact,    most  of  the 
widoweu   Squaws  were  married   again, 
and   little  children  whose   parents  had 
been    killed    were    adopted    by    other 
families. 

Ji-shil')   was  now  thirteen  years  old. 
He  was  almost  as  tall   as  his  mother, 

10V> 


1:1 . 


;;■! 


Mi 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Jiiid,  wliile  not  nearly  so  strong  as  she, 
lie  was  an  expert  trailer  and  luinter  of 
small  animals.  P>y  means  of  his  arrows, 
rabbits,  poicnpines,  raccoons,  ducks  and 
partridj^e  often  found  their  way  into  the 
family  kettle. 

One  day  in  the  early  Su' timer  he  went 
with  his  father  and  another  Indian  away 
to  the  South,  into  the  country  wheie  the 
Fox  Indians  lived,  to  dig;  medicine  roots 
in  the  prairie. 

As  they  paddled  slowly  down  the 
river,  a  number  of  blue  .jays  were  scream- 
ing and  scolding  in  the  forest  a  short  dis- 
tance from  shore.  It  was  evident  that 
something  unusual  was  occurring,  for 
the  Indian  learns  as  nuich  from  the 
tliglit  and  various  cries  of  birds  as  from 
anything  about  him,  and  those  blue  Jays 
exclaimed  clearly  enough: 

"Something  is  wrong;  come  up  and 
see!" 

They  paddled  rapidly  and  silently 
down  the  stream  a  short  distance,  and 
then  they  cautiously  crept  up  the  bank 
and  peered  among  the  trees. 

110 


mi 


"f¥| 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

The  jays  were  scieaiuing  above  and 
around  a  dense  tliicket  of  paw -paw 
bashes,  now  and  again  (hirting  into  tlie 
thieket  out  of  sight.  But  the  Indians' 
eyes  couUl  tell  them  nothing,  so  they  used 
their  next  best  means  of  discovery. 

They  went  back  to  the  edge  of  the  river, 
and  crept  softly  up  stream  until  they  got 
where  the  wind  blew  from  the  paw-paw 
bushes  toward  them. 

When  they  liad  again  crawled  up  to 
the  top  of  the  river  bank,  the  wind  blew 
over  to  their  noses  this  unmistakable  tale: 
''  I  have  just  come  from  that  clump  of 
l>ushes,  and,  besides  there  being  a  great 
plenty  of  unripe  paw-paws  there,  you  will 
also  take  notice  that  the  dense  foliage  is 
concealing  a  bulfalo." 

They  knew  that  the  butfalo  must  be 
wounded,  or  it  would  never  have  hidden 
in  such  a  place. 

Ji-shib  remained  where  he  was  and 
watched  thehuntersastheyllittedthrough 

the  forest  from  one  tree  trunk  to  another, 
until  they  could  approach  the  animal 
from  opposite  sides.  They  glided  along 
without  a  sound,  and  yet  during  a  mo- 

lU 


I     -M 


il 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 


M:' 


inoiit  in  whicli  frisliib  \v;us  watching  his 
father,  tht!  otlier  Indian  moved  the  dis- 
tance of  several  trees. 

The  Indian  strnng  his  trnsty  bow  and 
shot  an  arrow  into  the  thicket,  when  a 
large  bnffalo  jnll  staggered  into  view. 
It  Avas  weakened  by  hnnger  jind  loss  of 
blood.  Another  well-directed  arrow 
cansed  the  wonnded  animal  to  totter  .and 
sink  to  the  earth.  In  skinning  the  buf- 
falo, the  hunters  were  greatly  astonished 
to  find  a  Sioux  arrow  shot  nearly  out  of 
sight  in  its  body. 

They  were  alarmed,  for  they  were 
alone,  far  from  home,  and,  although  in  a 
country  which  the  Ojibwa  Indians,  with 
no  apparent  dispute,  had  for  some  time 
claimed  as  their  own,  yet  there  was  a 
Sioux  arrow,  and  the  buffalo  which  car- 
ried it  was  shot  not  more  than  three 
days  before. 

They  gradually  breathed  more  freely, 
because  the  Sioux  were  nowhere  discern- 
able.  They  tracked  the  animal  back, 
and  soon  came  to  signs  of  at  least  one 
hundred  more.  The  tracks  led  directly 
from  the  river  below  where  the  canoe  was. 

112 


r^] 


ChUdhoodofJi-shib' 


Oil  crossing;-  the  stream  they  founa  the 
pointed  luoeeiisin  tracks  of  two  Sioux  In- 
dians who  had  not  crossed  the  river  from 
the  west  side,  and   although  they  had 
skinned  a  buffahj  there,  and  camped  there 
at  niglit,  yet  tliey  had  not  built  a  fire. 
All  of  this,  while  showing  that  they  were 
brave  hunters,  also  told  plainly  that  they 
were  crafty  Indians  and  careful  iiot  to  be 
discovered. 

Ji-shi()  and  his  father  paddled  slowly 
down  the  river,  while  the  other  Indian 
followed  the  trail  of  the  buffalo  herd. 
After  going  down  stream  half  a  day,  they 
came  to  a  shallow  ford  where  the  herd  had 
re-crossed    the    river,    and    there    they 
waited.     The  tracks  told  them  that  the 
buiralo  were  no  longer  chased  or  fright- 
ened.    It  was  also  plain  that  the  aninnJs 
had  crossed  the  stream  only  the  previous 

evening. 

Just  at  sunset  the  other  Indian  came 
to  the  river  with  a  fresh  skin  and  a  load 
of  tender  meat.  He  had  killed  a  fat 
butfalo  cow  which  had  left  the  herd  as 
it  moved  on  through  the  thin  forest,  and 
remained    behind  with  her  calf  which 


had  its  leg  broken. 


llii 


113 


i;  ]\ 


\  \ 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

S(H'in<;  tliat  the  licirtl  was  mo  near  thiMii, 
and  that  it  would  not  be  iiiiich  farthci.'  to 
reacli  the  prairio  whero  their  medicine 
roots  wei'e,  iftliey  loUowed  tlie  ti-acks  oC 
the  buCf'ah),  tlie  Indians  decided  to  camp 
all  night  Mliere  tliey  were. 

In  the  early  morning  they  put  theii" 
ears  close  to  the  ground  and  lieard  the 
tramp  of  tlie  bullalo.  About  noon  they 
saw  from  a  low  hill  in  the  open  prairie, 
small  dark  spots  slowly  moving  some 
distance  ahead  of  them.  The  Indians 
remained  hidden  behind  the  hill  until 
they  could  approach  the  buffalo  along  a 
narrow  creek  bed.  Here  they  could 
proceed  rapidly,  for  the  bushes  and  sniall 
trees  concealed  them,  and,  besides,  the 
wind  blew  directly  from  the  herd  toward 
them,  so  that  the  bulfalo  could  not  dis- 
cover their  presence  by  the  scent. 

As  they  cautiously  came  out  into  the 

prairie  from  the  creek  bed,  they  were 

struck  dund)  with  surprise.     There,  up 

the  creek,  only  the  distance  of  two  arrow 

shots,  were  the  two  Sioux  hunters,  also 

cautiously  entering  the  prairie  from  the 

creek  bed,  and   also  intent  on  shooting 

buffalo. 

114 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib 

The  two  parties  discovorod  eat'li  othci- 
lit  the  same  instant.  There  they  were, 
faee  to  face,  liated  eiieniies.  Their 
tribesmen  had  hunted  and  kiiU'd  eaeh 
other  for  generations.  ICaeh  Indian 
yelled  liiswar  cry,  and  in  an  in.stant  had 
thrown  oif  everything  except  his  breech- 
cloth,  moccasins  and  weapons.  Instinct- 
ively each  brave  hunter  leaped  toward 
the  enemy,  for  there  was  neither  time 
nor  place  to  stalk  the  foe. 

Yet  it  was  clear  that  each  party  was 
hunting  and  not  wai-ring.  The  OJibwa 
knew  that  the  Sioux  were  alone,  for  they 
had  previously  seen  their  tracks.  Tlie 
Sioux  knew  that  the  OJibwa  could  not  be 
on  the  war  path,  for  children  never  went 
to  war.  So,  scarcely  had  they  started 
before  they  all  stopped.  After  a  woid 
of  council  between  the  two  Sioux  hunt- 
ers, they  both  laid  down  their  weapons 
and  raised  their  empty  hands  above  their 
heads.  Ji-shib  and  his  father  and  the 
other  Indian  did  the  same.  Thus  these 
two  parties  of  Indians,  who  could  not 
understand  a  word  of  each  other's  lan- 
guage, agreed  on  peace. 

lir, 


it 


p^^\l\;^\^\W 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Tho  Sioux  cjiino  forward  first,  one  of 
them  holdinjj  a  pipe  in  liis  lijiiul.     All 

five  met  luilf  way  be- 
tween where  they  had 
left  their  weapons, 
and  there  they  sat 
tlown  on  the  ]jrairie 
and  passed  the  i)ipe 
from  one  to  the  other. 
No  more  sacied  piom- 
ise  of  peace  was  ever  made  than  that  of 
smokin<?  the  peace  pipe  among  the  Indi- 
ans of  North  America. 

When  they  had  finished,  they  all  went 
back  to  their  weapons,  and,  passing  over 
the  hill,  ran  down  upon  the  herd.  Each 
Indian  shot  a  fat  bulfalo  cow;  and  Ji-shi6 
became  very  excited  as  he  stood  half  way 
down  the  hillside  and  saw  the  remainder 
of  the  animals  vanish  from  sight  around 
a  turn  in  the  valley. 

The  cow  that  the  other  Indian  shot  ran 
quite  a  distance,  followed  by  a  large  tierce 
bull.  Even  after  she  fell  he  stood  over 
her,  bellowing  and  pawing  up  the  earth. 
Kepeatedly  did  Ki-niw  and  the  other  In- 
dian try  to  get  to  the  cow,  but  each  time 

116 


^n? 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

tlie  faithful  old  bull  chiirged  ninm  tlieni, 
ever  loyal  to  his  shaggy  Squaw.  At  last 
the  two  Indians  separated,  one  coming  up 
on  eithei"  side,  and  they  succeeded  in 
shooting  the  fierce  bull. 

When  they  came  to  the  other  cow  to 
skin  her,  there  was  a  calf  lying  tusleep  be- 
side its  dead  mother.  They  caught  the 
calf,  and  told  Ji-shil3  to  blow  in  its  nos- 
trils. He  filled  his  lungs  with  air  a!id 
then  blew  into  its  nose  ius  one  would  blow 
up  a  football;  then  the  little  calf,  not  be- 
ing able  to  smell  anything  except  the 
brej'th  of  Ji-shilj,  followed  him  around  as 
it  would  its  own  mother. 

The  Sioux  Indians  skinned  their  two 
buffalo,  and  signaling  a  peaceful  good- 
bye, followed  the  fleeing  herd  and  were 
not  seen  again. 

The  Ojibwa  Indians  took  their  buffalo 
skins  and  went  in  the  opposite  direction 
to  seek  their  medicine  roots.  In  the 
evening  as  they  made  their  camp  in  the 
open  prairie,  the  young  motherless  calf 
lay  down  beside  them,  and  during  the 
night  slept  its  poor  hungry  little  life 

away. 

117 


x-^^^: 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib 


The  next  ►Spriii';  .lisliih  iiiul  aiiolluM- 
hoy  h)st  ji  tamo  poiciipine  which  tlicy 
had  kept  a  year,  ovor  since  il  couhl  cat 
ah)uc.  Jt  wandcn'd  away  (hiring  Ihcir 
absence  from  liomc,  and  had  been  <fone 
several  days  before  they  knew  abonl  it. 
They  tracked  it  thronj^h  tlie  forest,  then 
along  a  creek,  and  fonnd  where  it  had 
eaten  in  the  night  at  the  edge  of  the 
water.  Finally,  after  following  it  every 
step  of  its  long  Manderirig  journey,  see- 
ing where  it  had  slept  and  eaten  in  the 
trees,  and  where  it  had  scratched  in  the 
dirt,  they  came  to  a  lake  with  high 
jagged  cliffs  along  one  side.  In  some 
way  their  cunning  failed  them  there,  for 
trees  were  scarce,  and  some  of  the  rocks 
were  covei'ed  with  soft  green  luoss  like 
rugs,  and  otliers  were  entirely  bare,  even 
of  fine  sand. 

Ill  vain  they  searched  for  tracks  back 
and  forth  along  the  foot  of  the  clilf. 
They  proposed  to  climb  up  the  locks  a 
distance  until  they  could  look  over  from 
a  projecting  point,  and  there  watch  for 
the  little  rascal  to  waddle  out  of  his  cliff 
I'etreat  in  search  of  ft)od. 


118 


"F^>1 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Tliey  liiul  sciircoly  jjjjiiiuMl  their  out- 
look when  their  sharp  sijjfht  ciui^ht  the 
retlection  of  iiii  faille  iu  the  water.  As 
they  eaatiousiy  raised  their  eyes  they 
saw  51  leiuale  eagU;  ai)i)roaeiiiiig  over  the 
hike;  and  they  coidd  phiinly  see  that 
she  was  earryin}j;s()iiiethiiij;  in  her  ehiws. 
Very  soon  siie  ilew  into  the  elilV  some 
distance  from  them,  and  tliey  lieard  the 
eager  cries  of  a  nestful  of  hun<,n'y  young 
birds. 

A  tame  porcupine  was  tame  indeed,  as 
compared  with  a  caged  eagle,  so  as  soon 
as  the  motlier-bird  was  out  of  sight 
again  over  the  forest  trees,  the  boys  care- 
fully picked  their  way  uj)  the  cliil\ 

It  was  very  dillicult  climbing  part  of 
the  distance,  but  in  places  they  rould 
almost  run.  At  times  one  pushed  the 
other  up  over  his  head,  and  he,  from  his 
higher  position,  let  down  the  end  of  his 
breech-cloth  and  hauled  the  lower  boy 
up.  But  they  were  expert  climbers,  and 
at  last,  thanks  to  frequent  but  niggardly 
ledges  and  occasional  balsams  and  pines 
which  found  a  prisoner's  fare  in  the  nar- 
row cell-like  crevices,  they  arrived  at  the 
nest.  Two  young  birds  scarcely  a  week 
old  were  asleep  within  full  sight  of  their 

position. 

119 


^s 


•I 


i 
I 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

It  was  decided  that  Ji-shilj  should 
climb  down  the  cliff  to  the  nest  and 
bring  back  the  young  eagles  tied  in 
his  breech-cloth  slung  over  his  back, 
while  the  other  boy  should  try  to  shoot 
the  old  bird  if  she  returned.  Ji-shilj 
had  nearly  reached  the  nest,  and  his 
companion  watching  the  tops  of  the  for- 
est trees  over  the  lake  reported  every- 
thing all  right,  when  suddenly  a  frightful 
cry  of  alarm  and  anger  sounded  in  his 
ears.  The  eagle,  coming  to  her  nest  from 
the  back  waj ,  had  not  seen  the  boy  until 
she  came  fully  on  him.  A  young 
grouse  dropped  from  her  startled  claws 
to  the  ledge  near  him,  and  the  eagle 
turned  to  fight.  Not  until  then  had  she 
seen  Ji-shil3.  He  was  the  dangerous 
enemy.  He  was  the  one  who  would 
rob  her  of  her  darlings.  Forgetting  her 
frigl^t,  and  screaming  her  fierce  cry  of 
anger,  she  whirled  again  and  again  and 
charged  on  him. 

At  first  the  well-directed  arrows  kept 
her  from  touching  Ji-shit,  but  soon  they 
were  gone,  none  of  them  having  pene- 
trated  her  lapped    armor  of    feathers. 

120 


Childhood  of  Ji-shif> 

Slie  became  bolder,  and  twice  struck 
the  boy  a  cruel  stinging  blow  with 
her  heavy  wing.  Then  Ji-shil'j,  with  his 
side  lying  close  in  against  the  rock,  his 
left  hand  clutching  a  crevice  above  his 
head,  his  legs  supporting  him  from  two 
narrow  ledges  below,  drew  his  knife 
from  his  breech -cloth,  and,  fastening  his 
determined  eyes  on  the  bird,  waited  his 
chance  to  strike.  He  could  not  reach 
out  far,  for  he  dared  not  lean  away  from 
the  rock,  but  soon,  emboldened  by  her 


evident    success,    the   brave   war 


eagle 


came  to  sink  her  cruel  claws  in  his 
side.  Then  he  struck,  ifer  fierce  cry 
died  half  uttered,  and  she  fell  away, 
carrying  the  knife  sunk  deep  in  her 
breast.  They  listened  as  the  heavy  body 
fell  crashing  down  the  cliff,  breaking 
branches  and  knocking  oft"  loosened  peb- 
bles, until  it  reached  the  bottom. 

But  both  of  the  boys  knew  that  Ji-shib 
was  now  in  greater  danger  than  before, 
for  every  moment  they  expected  the 
eagle's  mate  to  come  in  response  to  her 
calls,  and  there  they  were,  both  of  them 
without  weapons. 

121 


wmmmmmmm9mm 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

The  boy  above  hurriedly  gathered  what 
stones  and  sticks  lie  could,  while  Ji-shil) 
passed  over  the  space  to  the  nest.  There 
he  could  at  least  have  a  little  room  to 
dodge  and  step  about  when  the  bird  at- 
tacked him. 

But  for  some  reason  the  bii'd  did  not 
come,  and  the  little  eagles  were  tied  in 
their  new  cradle,  and  there  they  swung 
wliile  Ji-shib  retraced  liis  dangerous 
path.  Far  below  them  thej'^  found  the 
dead  mother-bird,  and  lugged  her  home 
for  her  beautiful  leathers. 

Outside  their  wigwam  in  the  village 
they  built  a  platform  in  a  tree,  and 
on  it  constructed  a  wigwam-cage  of 
willows  for  their  new  pets.  Wiien  the 
boys  had  nothing  else  to  do,  they  very 
well  spent  their  time  trying  to  catcVj 
enough  small  game  to  till  up  the  rapidly 
growing  stomachs  of  those  two  young 
eagles. 


During  the  entire  Spring  a  change  was 
slowly  coming  over  Ji-shil'),  and  yet  he 
scarcely  knew  it.  It  was  a  steady, 
gradual  change  of  both  body  and  mind. 
He  was  outgrowing  his  childhood. 

122 


ChiMhood  of  Ji-shib' 

The  (lay  after  he  built  the  eagle 
cage  it  was  the  common  knowledge  of 
the  village  that  one  of  his  playmates 
liad  that  morning  gone  alone  into  the 
forest  to  begin  his  fast.  All  OJibwa  boys 
fast,  when  they  are  as  old  as  Ji-shib  was 
now,  in  order  to  dream  of  some  animal  or 
plant  which  shall  be  their  special  Guard- 
ian Spirit  or  Totem  lienceforth. 

Ji-shib  was  not  much  surprised  there- 
fore at  what  occurred  at  noon.     As  his 
birch-bark  dish  was  handed  him  there 
were    soft    black  cedar   coals  in  it,  in- 
stead of  food  to  eat.      lie  knew  what 
to  do  with  them,  so  without  saying  any- 
thing, or  even  looking  at  his  father  or 
mother   or   grandmother,  he   blackened 
his  tace  with  the  cc.ls.     Then  he  took 
his  bow   and   arrows    and    beaver-skin 
medicine  bag,  and   went  away  into  the 
forest  back  of  the  village.      There   he 
must  stay  alone    four  days  and  nights, 
without  food  or  wigwam.      If  he  was 
able   to   do   that,  there   would  be  little 
doubt    but    that    he    would     grow   up 
through  his  boyhood   and   young  man- 
hood into  a  worthy  hunter  and  warrior 

and  husband. 

123 


1  *i 

r  :i 


I  ! 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

Toward  evening  it  began  to  rain,  so 
lie  songlit  the  slielter  of  the  friendly  old 
hollow  tree  M'here  several  years  before 
he  had  once  slept  when  he  was  lost.  He 
wished  very  nuicli  to  know  what  the 
Sacred  Si)irits  wonld  send  him  as  bis 
Guardian  Spirit. 

That  first  night,  alone  in  the  forest, 
L  brought  to  his  restless  di-eanis  only  the 
home-life  of  the  village.  He  seemed  to 
hear  the  barking  of  the  dogs,  and  now 
and  then  the  call  of  an  Indian,  and  the 
plaintive  music  of  the  lover's-Hute, 
which  at  that  time  of  the  year  was  heard 
almost  nightly  in  the  village. 

But  the  next  night,  as  he  slept  hungry 
and  lonely  in  the  liollow  tree,  he  saw  his 
old  friend,  the  beautiful  young  Indian, 
come  to  him  and  beckon  him.  Ji-shilj 
looked,  and  saw  his  good  mother  come 
out  of  her  wigwam.  She  was  smiling 
and  seemed  very  happy.  She  carried  his 
little  baby  cradle  in  her  hands,  and  leaned 
it  up  against  a  tree.  He  could  faintly  hear 
her  say,  ''My  little  Blue  Bird  is 
fast  becoming  a  warrior."  As  the 
mother  passed  into  her  wigwam  the 

124 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

young  Indian  said  to  liini:  "Thus  you 
outgrew  your  babyhood."  Wliile  speak- 
ing, the  beautiful  Indian  gradually 
changed  his  shape  and  size,  and  in  a  few 
moments  he  was  turned  into  a  soft- furred 
beaver.     Then  lie  vanished. 

Next  day  Ji-shil)  was  very  hungry. 
Twice  he  went  to  the  creek  tixlrink,  and 
all  day  long  he  thought  how  the  Indian 
had  changed  to  a  beaver.  He  had  never 
done  that  before. 

That  night  the  young  Indian  came 
again  while  Ji-shil)  slept,  and  said  to 
him:  "Don't  you  know  me?"  Then 
he  quickly  laid  aside  his  beautiful  buck- 
skin gai'inents,  and,  sure  enough,  he  was 
a  real  beaver.  ''Look,"  he  said.  And 
Ji-shib  looked,  and  saw  himself  sitting 
in  the  hollow  tree  with  his  face  black- 
ened, and  the  beaver  said:  "Thus  will 
you  outgrow  your  childhood."  Ji-shib 
awoke,  but  could  see  nothing  except  the 
green  shoots  on  the  leafy  ground  in  front 
of  the  tree. 

He  was  more  and  more  hungry  that 
next  day,  and  yet  he  was  gett  ing  accus- 
tomed to  the  feeling  of  hunger,  so  he 
walked  aindessly  about  in  the  forest. 

125 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 


■H 


i>f   'fc*?^*'    '*»»^   ''     '  *' 


Everything  seemed  ■well-fed  and 
happy.  The  squirrels  and  birds  were 
busy  hunting  things  to  eat,  to  be  sure, 
but  tlie  [lad  felt  eertain  that  none  of 
them  liad  been  so  long  without  food  as 
lie  had.  His  wanderings  at  last  brought 
him  to  the  clear  warm  sunlight  at  the 
wild  rice  fields.  There  the  birds  were 
flitting  in  and  out,  to  and  from  their 
hidden  nests,  and  Ji-shil)  sat  down  to 
watch  them. 

A  bobolink  flew  from  the  reeds  up  into 
the  air  above  the  nest  of  its  brooding 
mate,  and  there  it  hung  and  fluttered 
and  sung.  What  a  wild,  passionate, 
happy  outburst  of  melody  that  was.  It 
was  like  the  song  of  a  dozen  birds  all 
singing  at  once  —  a  song  so  fast  and 
frantic  and  furious,  and  yet  so  sweet.  It 
often  sounded  like  the  melodious 
dropping  of  Mater.  ]\[any  times  the 
songster  Hew  to  its  mate  and  then  back 
again  into  the  air,  as  though  to  try  to 
outrival  its  last,  happy,  crazy,  sweet 
tangle  of  notes. 

If  Ji-shib  had  put  his  new,  half 
formed  thoughts  and  feelings  into  words, 


1  1 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

and  if  tlie  bobolink  could  have  under- 
stood Ji-shilS  as  he  that  day  dimly 
learned  to  understand  the  bobolink,  it 
might  have  heard  the  youth  softly  sing- 
ing: 

"O  little  bird, 
Songbird  of  the  reeds, 

I  hoar  thy  song  of  love. 

Thy  song  of  wooing. 

"  I  heard  thy  sweet  Squaw-mate 
Wlien  she  piped  her  answer  back  ; 

I  heard  her  soft-toned  voice, 
TelHng  she  loved  thee. 

"  O  pretty  I'eed-bird, 

Teach  me  thy  wisdom, — 
For  tliou  surely  art  wiser 
Tlian  any  Objiwa." 

That  evening,  that  fourth  and  last 
evening  of  his  fast,  Ji-shib  fell  asleep 
very  early  in  the  old  oak  tree's  hollow 
wigwam.  He  was  tired  and  exhausted. 
The  beaver  came  to  him  in  his  restless 
dreams  that  night,  and  took  him  by  the 
hand  and  led  him  far  away.  He  led 
him  into  the  forest  to  the  old  beaver 
dam  on  Cbippeway  river,  and  Ji-shib 
knew  that  he  was  born  there,  and 
that  there  the  beaver  first  found  him. 


127 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 


>t 


He  saw  that  the  beaver  liad  many  times 
saved  liim  from  being  injured,  tliat  he 
liad  saved  his  life  from  the  Bad  Spirit  of 
tlie  hike,  and  from  starvation  in  Winter. 
And  eTi-shilj  knew,  from  the  many  won- 
derful things  which  the  beaver  said  and 
did,  that  that  little  animal  was  wiser, 
many  times  wiser,  than  he  himself,  and 
even  wiser  than  the  old  i\[edicine-]\ren 
were,  for  was  it  not  an  animal,  now  living 
as  a  Sacred  Spirit,  which  told  the  Medi- 
cine-Men how  to  do  the  marvelous  things 
they  did  ?    . 

Ji-shil3  felt  that  the  beaver  was  not 
only  wiser  than  all  Indians,  but  that  lie 
was  even  wiser  than  all  other  animals; 
he  knew  everything.  And  he  would 
teach  Ji-shil3  everything,  if  he  was  only 
worthy  and  good.  And  so  Ji-shil)  felt 
in  his  dream  that  the  beaver  was  his 
Guardian  Spirit,  though  at  times  he  came 
in  the  form  of  a  beautiful  young  Indian, 
and  sometimes,  even,  he  was  not  visible 
at  all. 

Lastly,  in  his  dream  that  night  the 
beaver  showed  him  a  wigwam,  not  like 
the  wigwams  in  the  village,  but  a  pointed 

128 


ChUdhoodofJi-shib' 

one,  and,  raising  the  door-llap,told  Ji-shib 
to  enter.  There  in  the  wigwam  was  a 
young  Indian  girl,  and  when  he  spoke 
to  her  she  answered  him,  but  lie  could 
not  understand  her  words.  She  allowed 
him  to  sit  down  beside  her,  and  he 
noticed  that  she  was  very  beautiful. 
And  yet  he  did  not  understand  what  it 
all  meant,  he  knew  only  that  she  was 
beautiful.  The  beaver  said  to  him: 
''Thus  will  you  outgrow  your  boyhood, 
and  grow  into  manhood." 

Gradually  the  beautiful  girl  faded 
away,  and  Ji-shilj  turned  to  look  at  the 
beaver  which  was  sitting  up  beside  him. 
Slowly  tne  beaver  lay  flat  on  the  ground, 
and  Ji-shilS  awoke,  curled  up  in  the  hol- 
low tree,  looking  at  the  beaver-skin  med- 
icine bag  lying  at  his  feet.  And  then  he 
knew  surely  that  the  beaver  was  his 
Guardian  Spirit.  It  must  be  the  Spirit 
of  little  A-mi-kons,  for  had  notA-mi-kons 
found  him  at  his  birth?  Had  not  the 
beaver's  fur  wrapped  him  up  during  his 
babyhood  ?  Had  not  A-mi-kons  always 
been  his  medicine  bag?  A-mi-kons,  the 
little  beaver,  had  always  kept  him  and 
always  would. 

129 


mmmmmii 


a 


11  i 


Childhood  of  Ji-shib' 

The  fiust  was  ended,  and  Ji-sliil),  with 
his  beaver-skin  bag  in  his  hand,  left  the 
old  tree  in  the  forest,  and  started  slowly 
homeward.  Under  the  pine  trees,  past 
the  great  shady  maples,  stopping  to  pick 
the  bright  red  winter-green  berries,  lin- 
gering a  moment  at  the  wild  rice  fields 
to  hear  the  liquid  song  of  the  bobolink, 
together  they  went,  Ji-shib  and  the 
beaver,  on,  on  to  the  village.  And  thus 
they  were  always  together,  for  the  beaver 
watched  over  Ji-shil)  and  kept  him,  and 
Ji-shilj  knew  that  the  Spirit  of  the 
beaver  was  at  all  times  stronger,  and 
better,  and  wiser  than  he. 

130 


